A Life Too Many
by Huhn
Summary: Catherine O'Hara has secluded herself in the mountains, away from her old friends. Oscar & Emile seek her out and find themselves dealing with not just the sorrows of her past, but also a vengeful Imp Captain with a grudge against Squad 7...
1. Prologue

**Prologue **

_Many things terrified Oscar. Thunder, mice and the prospect of his brother succumbing to his ever-present sickness were chief among them. But in all honesty he could never remember being so full of fear as he was at this moment. Within the hour he could be dead, his body left rotting on the battlefield like some discarded puppet. _

_Since the dread had drained his legs of all strength, he had propped himself against some sandbags. Elsewhere in the camp his fellow soldiers stood about, checking their weapons and chatting in low tones. The order to move out was imminent and restlessness hung in the air like a vapour. Soon they would be crawling through the meadows before them, hunting for the enemy. And Oscar would be among them for his first and, most likely, last battle. The thought was enough to render him near senseless with terror. _

"You're doing this for him. Fighting for Em."

_He traced the outline of the cross-shaped scar on his forehead, bringing the image of his brother to the front of his mind. He thought of him lying sick in bed, where he had left him. Remembered how he'd gripped his hand weakly when he had said goodbye to him. _

"Em needs me. I have to fight. Have to protect him."

_It was no use. Sure he had a reason to fight, but even that couldn't stop the fear. Couldn't stave off the lightness in his head, the constant fullness of his bladder or the bile rising in the back of his throat. _

"I can't fight. I'm no soldier. I'm just a simple country-boy. I'll be killed out there," _Sudden tears rose in his eyes._ "I'm going to die today."

_He thrust his face into his hands, overcome with despair at his seemingly inevitable fate. It was over. There was no way he was capable of fighting in a battle. He was throwing his life away by even trying. The first time he was in an enemy's cross-hairs he would be gunned down like a hunted rabbit. At the day's end he would be nothing more than a chiselled name on a war memorial, all his life's dreams cruelly stolen. And who would look after Emile then? _

_"Chin up young man!"_

_The friendly voice startled him. He had been so preoccupied with his own fearful musings that he hadn't noticed the woman approach. She was slender and pale, with short dark hair and a small, but warm, smile. A sniper like him, he noted from the rifle she had slung over her shoulder. _

_She sat down next to him, resting the butt of her rifle on the ground. "It's not nice is it? The eve of the battle," She nodded at him knowingly. "Especially your first."_

_"No Ma'am." He didn't have any better words in him right now. _

_"I wish I could reassure you," she said. "But war is a nasty business, all being told."_

_"Yes Ma'am," he replied robotically._

_"It's a harsh truth to hear," she continued. "But there are no guarantees for anyone on the battlefield. Any one of us could lose our lives out there."_

_"Uh-huh," Oscar murmured. His stomach suddenly tightened and he wanted to throw up. He had known full well that he could die today. But to have it stated out loud made it seem that much more real. _

_"But that said, I don't think you should worry unduly."_

_All he could do was raise his head slightly to her. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth he would be sick all over her. _

_"You see, you may not have realised it but you've chosen the best squad in Gallia to join." _

_"The best?" Oscar asked, curious despite himself. _

_The lady grinned and held up the four fingers of her right hand. "This squad has fought in four skirmishes together. All four were emphatic victories. And all four were won without losing a single soldier."_

_The fact shocked him. "No-one died?" he asked. "Not even one person?" _

_"Not even one," the woman confirmed, "You see our front line is very good at their job. They protect us support units well. But more to the point, Mister Gunther is a fine leader."_

_"He is?"_

_"That's right. He doesn't have much more battle experience than even yourself but he marries competent strategic thinking with an unrelenting respect for the lives of the men who fight for him. He is a commander worth fighting for."_

_"I see," Oscar mused. He'd only talked to their commander once, when he'd first signed up with the squad. At the time he had been surprised by his youth, yet somehow comforted by his approachable nature. _

_"So, yes," the woman was saying, "Our lives are on the line out there. But our commander would never choose a strategy that would leave a sniper at the enemy's mercy. And the team trusts him and will follow his orders to the letter." _

_"That's good to know," said Oscar. The woman's reassuring words had relaxed him just enough to manage a longer sentence. _

_"And there's one more thing you should know," she continued. She had placed a hand on his shoulder now, forcing Oscar to stare into those blue eyes of hers, which were now set and determined. _

"_I will be watching out for you too." _

_"You will?"_

_She nodded. "My number one priority is to protect my friends. That is not only my order from Commander Gunther but the code by which I live," Her grip on her shoulder tightened to emphasise her point. "I have been assigned to cover you from any enemy sniper fire in the coming skirmish. You can rest assured that I will perform that duty with every ounce of my being." _

_"Oh....kay," replied Oscar, daunted by the sheer resolve in the woman's words. _

_"I ask that you trust me with your life today. I promise you that no Imp will threaten it. So chin up!" she said, her tone now light again. "You'll be well defended so you can concentrate on shooting the helmets off Imperial heads!" _

_"Right!" said Oscar. He was amazed at how reassured he now felt. This battle would be undeniably dangerous but he would not be fighting it alone. Miss Stark and her troopers would be defending the camp like a solid brick wall, and Mister Potter and his trusty lance would take out any enemy tanks that had the gall to approach them. Mister Gunther would be conducting the battle to achieve quick victory and preserve the lives of his crew. This was the team of which he, Oscar Bielert, was a part. In return for the efforts of his fellows, he would do his own best to shoot the enemy down from afar._

_And this woman would be watching out for him too. For some reason it was that which made him feel safest of all. _

_"Squad 7 work for each other. That's the way we operate. That's why we win." the lady sniper was saying. "We're going to live to see this evening, you'll see." She suddenly smiled again. "And when we do, I'll make us a nice cup of tea to celebrate our victory!"_

_"Yeah...sure," said Oscar, more confidently now. As the lady patted him on the shoulder and rose to leave he added. "Uh, Ma'am?"_

_She turned back to him. "Yes?"_

_He stood and bowed his head respectfully. "My name is Oscar Bielert. Would you mind telling me yours?" _

_"Oh! How rude of me." she said, chiding herself with a tap on the forehead. "There I was going on and on and I didn't even introduce myself."_

_She stood up straight, saluted, then offered her palm to him. "I'm Catherine O'Hara," she said as she shook his hand. "I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance."_

_"Yeah, same here," said Oscar, and found that he truly meant it. _


	2. One

**One**

"Hey! Wake up!"

The slap to the head woke him instantly. For the briefest moment he expected to find himself back in his bed at the Sleepy Lakes sanatorium where they had been treating his brother. Then his mind clicked into gear and he remembered that he was sitting in the back of an ancient worn-down flatbed truck, with his brother to one side and miles of dusty track unfolding behind them.

Emile shook his shoulder to make sure he was awake. "You nodded off there bro. Stay sharp! You're holding the rifle after all."

"I know, I know," he said, clutching the rifle close to his shoulder. He closed his eyes again, summoning the memory of that day once more once more.

He had not only survived that battle but had made his own contribution to the victory as well. As per the mission briefing Hannes had escorted him to a watch tower, which had given him a strong vantage point from which to snipe. From there he had managed to kill three Imps, and wound two others. How he'd managed it, he could not say. Once the battle had started, the adrenalin in his veins had converted his fear into sheer fighting instinct. The skills he had learned on the shooting range had come in to play without conscious thought. It was as though he had been simply playing some game and, Oscar had to admit, when the third Imp had gone down to a sweet headshot he had felt immensely satisfied with himself.

It had been a fine first performance. Mister Gunther had even sought him out personally in the barracks afterwards to congratulate him with a handshake. And Miss O'Hara had been as good as her word. She had invited him to the break-room and prepared him a steaming cup of tea (with a chocolate biscuit on the side) to commemorate the success of his first operation. Oscar remembered her ruffling his hair, her blue eyes sparkling with delight.

"_You did __so well today Oscar! SO well! I'm really proud of you!"_

"I was remembering my first battle," he said aloud, returning to the present. "That was when I first met her. She told me how Squad 7 worked as a team, and how she would protect me. I was feeling so scared and so lonely then but her words gave me just enough courage to get out there and fight," His eyes became suddenly distant and he sighed wistfully. "She was there for me even back then."

"She was always there for us," Emile said. "We owe so much to her."

"We sure do," muttered Oscar. He dug a book (a battered old 'classic' novel which he hadn't yet read) out of his bag and let it flop open naturally. There, safely sandwiched between pages, was a photo which he had stowed there for safe keeping. He gingerly lifted it out and held it up so that Emile could see it too.

Miss Ellet had taken it shortly before the Fouzen operation, when she had ambushed the snipers on the training field to squeeze an interview out of them. The monochrome image showed the two boys, with their rifles propped proudly on their shoulders. Between them stood a smiling Miss O'Hara, resting one hand on each of the boys' free shoulders. _These are my boys and I'm proud of them_, her expression seemed to be saying.

"Look at that," said Emile breathlessly. "All three of us together. It's like we're a family!"

Oscar nodded, his gaze not wandering from the photo. To the untrained eye, they could have been a mother and her two sons. Three members of a tight-knit family.

"She was so close to us," his brother continued. "Makes you wonder what why she upped and left without saying a word."

Oscar shrugged. That was a mystery he was hoping this little trip would solve. After all what possible reason could someone so renown for her loyalty to her friends have for not even sticking around for the victory party?

"She'll have her reasons," he said, replacing the photo in the book and stowing it back in his bag. "You know she never did things on a whim."

"I know," said Emile. He sighed and stretched his arms out, stiff from all the hours they had been spending in the back of this flat-bed.

"Do you really think we'll find her out here?" he asked suddenly, "I mean this place is...well..." He gestured at the featureless mountains around them. "This place is _nowhere_."

"She'd better be," Oscar replied. "We have to find her today. We can't sleep rough in this place, not with that cough you've picked up."

"It's fine bro. It's not that bad," Emile replied, before immediately contradicting

himself with a hoarse coughing fit. Oscar patted him on the back and passed him the water pouch. His brother took it gratefully and took a decent slug.

"But I can't understand why she would ever want to come out _here?_" he continued, handing the pouch back to him. "It's not even pretty. Just barren mountains for miles on end."

"Yeah," said Oscar. From his, admittedly modest, knowledge of Gallian geography he knew that this region had been home to a few isolated lodes of ragnite. It had since all been extracted, and the miners had moved on. Their legacy remained on the landscape though. The mountains were devoid of all vegetation and covered with gaping holes, making it look as though a giant had taken a bite out of them. Abandoned mining equipment was strewn by the side of the track, seemingly thrown down by their former owners wherever they had stood when the very last chuck of ragnite had been extracted from these mountains. Man had come, wrung all the wealth they could from the land then left it to die. It was no longer a place for people to live. It was a wasteland to be forgotten about.

"And I was hoping I'd be able to get some painting done while we were here," Emile mused. "I figured there might be some nice mountain vistas, you know?"

Oscar shrugged with a smirk. "You might as well paint this place. Your pictures always end up rubbish anyway."

Emile grinned and punched him on the shoulder. "Shut up bro. Everyone knows you're just jealous of my talent!"

"You mean your talent to ruin paper with paint?"

"The very same!" replied Emile smugly. Both of them chuckled lightly at the familiar joke. In truth no-one loved Emile's paintings more than Oscar himself. They were more than just images to him; they were proof his brother was alive enough to create something beautiful. Every picture he painted was a triumph over his ever-present sickness.

The truck carried on trundling along the dirt track as it took its course through the miserable mountains. The scenery never changed, so that it was almost as though they weren't moving at all. The brothers had both dozed off by the time the truck arrived in the village of Ettau.

Both of them were jolted awake again when the truck stopped sharply. They found themselves parked in the village square. "Looks like we're here," said Emile cheerfully.

They both hopped off the bed of the truck. Emile kicked out his legs while Oscar went up to the front to speak to the driver. "Thanks for the lift Sir," he said, handing him the fare they had agreed. The old man, expression hidden in his bushy beard, simply nodded silently before putting his foot down and accelerating away.

As the truck sped off, Oscar swivelled his head around to take in what little there was to this village. Clearly its best days had faded with the ragnite mines. Most of the buildings had fallen into disrepair after years of non-residence, while the rest looked as though a good storm would flatten them.

"Not exactly Randgriz is it?" Emile remarked.

One building across the square appeared sturdier than the others. It was a pub - _The Boisterous Billy-goat_ according to the faded sign hanging above the door. He pointed it out to his brother.

"Come on. We'll get a meal and ask about Miss O'Hara."

Emile regarded it sceptically. "Can we really afford a pub-meal bro?"

Oscar consulted the pouch containing their pitiful savings. "I think we can stretch for it," he said, after a quick count of the coins. "Guys gotta eat don't they?"

"This one sure does," Emile replied.

As they crossed the square Oscar became aware of eyes on them. People on the street had stopped to look at them and others were watching them warily from the windows of their shacks. It wasn't surprising he supposed. In a community of this size, new faces would stick out like tanks in a flower-field.

"Stay on guard," he whispered.

Emile scoffed. "Think they're hiding a battalion of Imps in this village?"

"I'm just saying, stay focused. I get the feeling we aren't welcome here."

They came to the pub's entrance and Oscar pushed the door open (taking care; it looked ready to fall off its hinges). As they entered, all eyes in the room flew to them and the gentle buzz of conversation died.

Oscar tried to avoid the stares. This pub was so unlike the ones he was used to. In the days after the War's end, Hannes had taken them to some of the bars in Randgriz. Those had been rowdy places where it had been impossible to escape the smoke-filled air, the sloshing of beer and the lively music of the band.

In comparison this pub was utterly soulless. It didn't even have the easy warmth that some quiet country pubs attained. There was no decoration on the walls, and the no more than two people sat at any one table. Every person in the pub was glaring at them accusingly, as though they had stumbled into a private function. The barman, an elderly man in a stained shirt, made an angry gesture from behind the counter.

"Hey! Take that thing outside. We don't want no strangers here bringin' war."

"Huh? Bringing war? Oh, you mean the rifle?" Oscar suddenly realised. "It's just for hunting." He didn't bother explaining that the keeping of a loaded rifle to hand was a habit taught to them by an old mentor and friend.

"Get it out," the barman commanded, waving his hand at the door. "We'll have no strangers carryin' any firepower in here."

Before Oscar could protest again, Emile touched him on the arm. "Don't worry bro, I'll wait for you outside."

Oscar nodded and handed him the rifle. "I'll bring you out some food," he promised. Emile gave him an encouraging wink and headed back out the door.

Now unarmed, Oscar felt particularly vulnerable as he walked further into the

pub, the unfriendly gazes of the locals following him all the way to the counter. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck, making him shiver.

He set himself down on a precarious barstool. From the other side of the counter, the barman regarded him suspiciously.

"You a soldier, boy?"

Oscar hesitated, considering how best to answer. "I used to be Sir. I fought in the War. Gallian Militia, Squad 7." He paused at that, waiting for the usual reaction to the mention of the legendary squad which had saved their country.

It wasn't forthcoming. "Only asked if you were a soldier. I don't care what squad you were in." the man replied darkly.

Oscar was amazed at how dismissive this man was. Back in Randgriz, the fact he had been a member of Squad 7 had been like a gift voucher. The mere mention of it had earned him free meals, beers on the house and, on one occasion, an invitation to the bed of a buxom blue-eyed bar-girl (an offer which he now berated himself for being too shy to accept). Here though, that status clearly didn't carry the same weight. The way the barman had spoken to him, it was as though he had tried to pay off a tab using a stack of foreign coins.

"We don't want no war here," the man continued, a note of warning in his tone. "This here is a village of peace. Always has been. Back in the War the Empire came right down the pass in their droves. Could have blown this place apart on seconds. But they marched right on by. Guess our little village didn't amount enough to them.

"So hear this. We have no time for soldiers here, Imp or otherwise. The army didn't protect our town and the Imps didn't want it. So you watch yourself boy. I will not stand for any aggro."

"I see what you're saying," said Oscar, flustered. "But we're not here to make trouble. We've only come here to look for someone," He decided to press his luck. "In fact, you may be able to help us out."

The barman made a neutral gesture. "Order something and maybe I can."

"Sure thing. We'll take a couple of ploughmans please."

The barman grunted in acknowledgement, turned his back to him and started to saw at a stale sounding loaf of bread. He seemed to have forgotten that his help had been requested, but Oscar asked anyway.

"So, this person we're looking for," he said to the back of the man's head. "Her name is Catherine O'Hara. She was in Squad 7 just like us."

"Never heard the name," the man said without turning back to him.

Oscar's heart sank. "Well maybe you've seen her. Tall woman, short dark hair? Mid thirties?"

The barman scratched his stubbly cheek, considering this. "She a pretty thing?" he asked. "I always remember pretty things."

Oscar had to pause. He had never considered Catherine in those terms before. "Uh…yes. I suppose she is," he eventually replied. All of a sudden, inspiration struck him. He fished out his photo and placed it flat on the counter.

"Here. That's her in the middle. Does she look familiar at all?"

The barman came over to take a glance at it. "Oh _her_. Yeah, she came into town 'bout three months back. Lives in a shack right on up the mountain." He pointed in the rough direction. "Just follow the north path out of town and you'll find her."

"Really? She's here?" Elation surged through him. They had found her! Their journey to the middle of nowhere would not be in vain. "That's great, thank you so much Sir!"

The barman didn't acknowledge his gratitude, instead just dumped two sorry-looking sandwiches down in front of him. "Anything else?" he asked dully.

"That's all, thank you Sir," Oscar formed a pile of coins totalling the exact charge on the counter. Then, using a napkin in each hand, he snatched up the two sandwiches. He carried them outside, once again aware of the unfriendly eyes that observed his every step.

He found his brother sat propped against the wall of the pub with the rifle on his lap. Emile looked up and smiled as he emerged.

"Any luck?"

Oscar nodded triumphantly and tossed him one of the rolls. "We've found her bro. She's just a little further up the mountain,"

Emile's eyes lit up "She's actually here? Brilliant! Well come on, let's go!"

"Sure," Oscar pulled him to his feet. "You okay to walk it?"

"Course I am," Emile replied. "We can't just sit around if we're this close. Let's go get her!"

Oscar knew his brother would have given that reply even if he'd been at death's door and so resolved to take it slowly on the trail. Yet that would be difficult, for he too was buzzing with excitement. Not even the curious absence of cheese in their ploughman sandwiches could dent their spirits, as they left the village on the trail to their long-lost friend.

***

Oscar had been aware how the gazes of the locals had been fixed on him the whole time he had been in the pub. What he hadn't noticed was that one gaze had been resting on him more heavily than the others.

As the boys left the village a man came out of the pub and stared after them, shielding his eyes against the setting sun. He was strongly built, with a handsome face marred by red blotches and smart jet-black hair slicked back with more gel than was necessary. A stubby cigarette was clenched between his thin lips. As he watched the boys leave, he took it out and cast it aside furiously.

Squad 7, the boy had said. The very squad whose name he had been cursing ever since the fateful day they had crossed paths. It was as though the Fates had jabbed him right in his most painful memories in the hope that he would react.

Well, react he would. The presence of three members of Squad 7 in this village was something he simply could not ignore. For the sake of his stolen pride and his fallen allies, he would take his revenge. The War may have ended for the Empire. But with this unexpected development, his own personal war would be resurrected from the ashes of a bitter defeat that still haunted his dreams...


	3. Two

**Disclaimer – Valkyria Chronicles is Sega's masterpiece, not mine. But you knew that already, right?**

**Thanks for all the reviews so far! **

_"Osc! What's wrong? Come on bro wait up!"_

_Oscar didn't give any sign of having heard him as he stormed away down the corridor. His fists were balled up with barely-contained fury as he strode into his room. When Emile reached to pull him back, the slamming door nearly took his hand off. The lock clicked into place before he could even touch the handle. _

_"Osc…" he said, quietly now. He raised his hand to knock, but then someone spoke from behind him. _

_"Maybe it's best to leave him alone for a while."_

_Emile turned to the dark-haired woman who had somehow sneaked up on him. She smiled at him with more familiarity than he would have expected from a stranger. _

_"Emile Bielert, correct? Fifteen years of age, younger twin brother to a certain Oscar Bielert and Squad 7's latest recruit?"_

_Emile found himself gaping. "How do you know all that?"_

_She chuckled. "Well, for one thing you're the spitting image of your brother."_

_"But…who are you?"_

_"I'm sorry. I'm Catherine O'Hara, Squad 7's Lead Sniper. I'm a friend of your brothers." Her smile widened. "He's told me so much about you. You mean the world to him."_

_"Not right now I don't," said Emile, glancing at the locked door next to them. "He's really upset with me."_

_"I think you can see why." When he looked at her questioningly, she went on. "He enlisted so that he could protect you. But now you're here, right in the firing line. It's no wonder he feels frustrated."_

_"No!" Emile shouted, banging his fist on the wall. "He shouldn't feel that he has to fight for me! I don't want to be a burden to him!"_

_"I understand," said the woman named Catherine. "You were worried about him too. That's why you came here."_

_"Right," said Emile. "If he wants to fight, I want to fight with him. We're brothers after all, and twins too. We should fight together."_

_He looked at his feet, despondent. The tiny part of him that wasn't worried about Oscar suddenly wondered why he was bearing his soul to a woman he had only just met. _

_Just then she spoke again. "You were assigned to be a sniper weren't you?"_

"_Yes Ma'am," he replied. _

"_Good. Come with me then Master Bielert." She beckoned him to follow her back down the corridor._

"_Huh? Where are we going?"_

"_We're going to the shooting range for a training session," she said. "If you want to show your brother that you can fend for yourself then you're going to have to prove it to him with skill as well as spirit."_

_"With skill? Well I don't know…" Emile trailed off, unsure what he was going to say. For all his brave words, he didn't know if he really was a good enough solider to fight in a battle. He knew he had the gusto, and he had performed well enough to pass basic training. But when push came to shove, did he have the skills to fight?_

_Catherine dismissed his doubts with a wave of her hand. "You showed enough skill to be allocated to the sniper discipline. That means you have potential. And if you have even a smidgeon of Oscar's natural talent then I'm sure you will make a fine marksman." _

_She looked back to him over her shoulder, face resolute. "Let me train you. I promise you that I'll tap into that potential of yours. Then it won't just be Oscar protecting you. You'll be able to protect each other." Her eyes seemed to sparkle with enthusiasm. "How does that sound?" _

_It sounded just brilliant. The very thought that this woman could make him good enough to be a help, rather than a burden to Oscar was enough to bring out Emile's widest grin. _

"_Thank you so much Ma'am!" _

_She smiled fondly at him. "Thank me in bull's-eyes."_

# # # # # # # #

**Two **

Getting to Catherine's place had been far tougher than they had anticipated. How they had managed it without breaking their necks, Oscar couldn't say.

The path had been steep, with plenty of loose pebbles which tested their footing with every step. There had been no shelter from the biting wind either, which had blown them off balance and blasted their cheeks a raw red. Along the way they had been forced to stop twice when Emile had succumbed to more of his coughing fits. It had taken them a full twenty minutes to reach the end of the treacherous mountain trail. On the bright side, Oscar supposed, at least they had been fortunate enough that the weather had been dry. Even the slightest shower would have turned this perilous path into a mudslide.

The lonely log cabin they found at the end of the path seemed a poor reward for their efforts. It was a tiny structure that barely seemed to be holding it's own against the hard mountain weather. It was hard to image that this humble dwelling was where their old mentor had chosen to set up home. And yet this had to be it, since the path petered out here and the only other settlements that could be seen were those from the village they had came from, further down the mountain.

After they had straightened out their shirts and smoothed down their windswept hair, Oscar had knocked on the door. There was no response.

He knocked again, though it was hard to imagine that anyone in such a small cabin would not have heard him the first time. Meanwhile Emile peered through the window, shielding his eyes from the bright setting sun to help him see into the gloomy interior of the cabin.

"Great," he said, "We come all the way out here and she's not even home!"

Oscar folded his arms, regarding the closed door thoughtfully. "Sure looks that way. I guess we should wait for her to come back?"

"Do you think she even lives here?"

"Well, someone does," Oscar gestured at the fire pit in front of the cabin. "There are fresh ashes in there."

Emile sniggered sarcastically. "Great work detective!"

"I'm no detective. I just have the eyes of a _true_ sniper," Oscar replied, indicating his own with two fingers of his right hand.

"True sniper? You w…"

"Boys?"

The boys yelped, both of them instinctively snatching up the rifle at the same time. The voice had come from nowhere. They looked all around, but its owner was nowhere to be seen.

"Boys! I'm up here."

An innocuous bush was growing on the gentle slope to the side of the cabin. It rustled for a second and then they saw her, picking leaves off herself as she emerged. As ever, her trusty rifle rested ready in her hands.

"Miss O'Hara!" Emile exclaimed delightedly as she shuffled her way down the slope towards them.

There she was. After the months apart, Oscar felt a sudden elation at seeing the woman who had been their mentor throughout the war. For the most part, she was just as he had remembered – that familiar tall slim figure with the dark, almost Darcsen, hair contrasting her pale skin. Though she looked odd in drab civilian clothing rather than her resplendent blue militia uniform, she was still just as he had remembered.

Except for one thing. The expression on her face was not one she had ever given them before. It wasn't anything like that small comforting smile they had come to love so much. It was more like a gape of pure horror.

"My goodness," she breathed, staggering towards them. "What are the two of you doing here?" She seemed utterly dazed. A stray leaf was still caught in her fringe. The rifle in her hands looked ready to slip right out of her grip.

Oscar swallowed, somewhat unnerved by the look on her face. "We came here to see you Miss O'Hara," he said carefully. "Um…is that okay?"

Her senses seemed to snap back into play. The horror flashed off her face. "Oh yes! Yes, of course it is," she said quickly. "My, how wonderful to see you both!"

She slung her rifle onto her back and opened her arms to them, gave each of them a quick hug (more of a gesture than a display of affection) then ushered them to the cabin.

"Please, come in," she said. "I'm sorry I wasn't at the door to greet you. I didn't know that it was the pair of you climbing the mountain. I just saw two people. I couldn't tell who they were."

"So you hid in a bush?" Emile asked dubiously.

She bit her lip sheepishly. "Only as a precaution. This place is far beyond the reach of the law you know. For all I know you could have been a couple of bandits. And besides," she said, raising a knowledgeable finger. "You should know by now that a good sniper should never be caught out in the open."

The brothers exchanged a glance with each other. Oscar could tell they were both thinking the same thing – _she can't have very many visitors if she takes up a sniping position every time someone comes to her door_.

The interior of the cabin was nothing but functional. In the gloom they could make out a bed (which took up nearly the whole wall), a bedside stool with a couple of books on it, a battered wardrobe, a couple of shelves on which kitchen utensils were stacked, a small table and a solitary wooden chair. It was tidy but only because there were so few items around to clutter the place up. There were no pictures hanging on the walls or flowers to brighten the place up. The cabin could have belonged to anyone, so little character did it have. In fact the only little bit of Catherine in the whole room was a dainty blue teapot, sitting proudly in the middle on the table.

"I'm afraid it's in a bit of a state right now," Cathrine said, seeming to sense the boys' disappointment with her home. "If I'd have know you were coming I would have given it a once over with the dust-cloth."

"It's no problem Miss O'Hara. We're the ones who should be sorry for dropping in unannounced like this." Oscar said. He winced inwardly at how formal that sounded.

"Oh it's no trouble at all," Catherine said, though her tone wasn't convinced. "I was planning to make a vegetable soup tonight, but I think I can make it stretch to three. It may be a bit watery but I've got enough vegetables so that it won't be a total loss."

"Don't worry about that Miss O'Hara," said Emile. "We had a sandwich on the way up. We won't need feeding or anything."

"I won't let you miss dinner. I'll scrounge something up, I promise. But what I can offer you is a cup of tea," she said, pressing her fingers together and pursing her lips. "Just give me a moment, I'll put the kettle on. Please have a seat – I'll be back in a moment."

Without waiting for any kind of response, she picked up the kettle and headed straight back outside. Almost as though she had been desperate to get out. For a moment, Oscar wondered where she was going, then realised that this primitive shack didn't even have the luxury of a stove. She would have to start a campfire to boil the water.

Deciding to leave the single chair for their hostess, the boys sat down on the bed. "Does she seem all right to you?" Oscar whispered to his brother. "She seems… out of sorts."

Emile shrugged. "Can't blame her. We did take her by surprise."

"I guess," said Oscar. Still he couldn't shake the feeling of unease. In his mind he had pictured Catherine welcoming them with open arms, utterly delighted that they had came so far to seek her out. He had thought that they had been close enough to her to expect such a greeting. But the way she had reacted the very first instant she had first seen them. That unforgettable look of horror on her face, grey eyes bulging, mouth open like a tunnel. Utterly distraught. As though their coming had been a terrible shock rather than a pleasant surprise.

That wasn't even considering how she was acting now. Their arrival had clearly flustered her. It had made her _babble_. So out of character for a woman they remembered for her serenity.

Soon they heard the kettle whistling from outside. Catherine brought it back in and filled up the teapot. They gave it a few minutes to brew, then she poured it into three cups and topped them up with milk. Impressively she had remembered exactly how they liked their tea – popping one sugar cube into Oscar's mug and two into Emile's.

She brought the tea over on a tray, along with a half-finished packet of plain biscuits. The boy's gratefully took the steaming cups and sipped them. It was quite astonishing how Catherine's tea always tasted wonderful. It wasn't as though there were many different ways you could make it.

"So," said Catherine, seeming calmer now that she had a nice cuppa in her hand. "It's been a while hasn't it? What have you boys been up to then?"

Oscar hesitated. Now that they were settled he was tempted to ask the question that they had come all the way out to the mountains to answer. He decided to hold fire for now. He didn't want to agitate her again, especially now that she had calmed down a bit. Best to play along with the conversation for now and wait for the opportunity to present itself.

"Not too much," he replied. "After the squad disbanded we went back to Sleepy Lakes to rest up and get Emile checked over."

"Oh, I am thoughtless," said Catherine, tapping herself on the head. "How is your health these days Emile? That's the first thing I should have asked."

"Don't worry about me Miss O'Hara," Emile said. "I'm feeling just fine. The exercise I got during the war helped build up my strength."

"You were exhausted when we first returned though," Oscar pointed out. "You slept for nearly three days straight."

"Hey! So did you!" Emile shot back.

"But anyway, according to the doctor Emile's condition is steady at least, no worse than it was before the war despite all the fighting he's done." Oscar bobbed his head in satisfaction. "Really, it was a relief to hear."

"I'm glad," said Catherine, sounding genuinely so. "But the journey here can't have done you any good Emile. You've both certainly come a long way just to see me. I'm flattered that you made the effort,"

The boys exchanged a glance. With a slight lift of his eyebrows Emile gave Oscar his unspoken consent to ask the question. Oscar acknowledged this with a nod.

"Well Miss O'Hara, the thing is we were worried about you."

"Hm? Why was that?" asked Catherine. With her saucer in one hand and her cup daintily held in between two fingers she looked the very picture of innocence. It had to be an act Oscar thought. There could be no chance though that she didn't know the cause of their concern.

"You just vanished," he said, looking down at his fidgeting hands as he spoke. "You didn't even come back with us after the last mission. You left without saying a word to anyone."

"It was quite a quick getaway, wasn't it?" admitted Catherine. "But the war had ended and there were things I had to do and people I wanted to see again. I suppose that was true for everyone."

Oscar looked up now, almost accusing her with his stare. "That's not all. You didn't even come to the wedding."

"I know," Catherine said. "I do feel guilty about that." She was treading carefully with her words, considering each one before speaking it.

"Every surviving member of Squad 7 was there," Oscar continued. "Even _Marina_ came along."

"Though she left straight after the ceremony." Emile added.

"All the same," Oscar said mournfully. "We really wish you could have been there too."

Catherine sighed. "It wasn't that I didn't care. I remembered the date and was thinking about them all that day. And I sent them a card too."

"We know," Emile butted in. "That's how we found you. The postmark on the envelope was from this village."

"Oh, I _see,_" said Catherine. She sounded as though she had just realised what a stupid mistake she had made.

Oscar swallowed, finally summoned the courage to ask the question they had come so far to ask.

"So why didn't you come Miss O'Hara?"

His gaze was unwavering, his desperate eyes imploring her for a response. When it came though, he was to be disappointed.

"Oh, never mind about that," she said lightly, as though her absence from the wedding had been nothing of consequence. "But please, tell me about it. Was it a lovely ceremony?"

She had deliberately dodged the question. Oscar retreated, decided to carry on the conversation and wait for another chance to strike. "Yeah, it really was," he said.

"I'll bet Miss Alicia was pretty in her gown."

"More than pretty," said Emile. "She was like a storybook princess. A perfect bride. Beautiful like a…." He faltered.

"A Valkyrur?" Catherine offered.

"Yeah, exactly."

"How wonderful. It's great to hear that they finally tied the knot," Catherine said. "Those two go so well together. They deserve to be happy."

"They're back in Bruhl now," Oscar continued. "Coby's helping them build their dream home."

"Oh, that old coot!" said Catherine, brightening at the mention of her old friend. "How is he?"

"Spirited as ever," said Emile. "And he told us to give you a slap around the head for not showing up,"

"Heh. That dear old fool," said Catherine. "I hope you're not still planning to deliver that for him. I did just serve you tea after all."

"Don't worry, we won't. We'll just tell him we did!" said Emile.

"But really Miss O'Hara," Oscar said, sensing the opportunity to steer them back to the question. "Why weren't you there? You had so much respect for the Commander and Miss Alicia. And you loved Squad 7. We thought you would be the first name on the guest-list."

"Oh, I had my reasons," said Catherine quietly. She was looking off to one side now, as though something interesting was crawling up her back wall.

"So why?" he repeated, almost pleading now.

For a moment Catherine was silent. Then she sighed – a private little sound. Slowly she turned her head back to him. Her mouth was a flat admonishing line. When she spoke, her voice was dark and precise.

"Now Oscar, you know better than to pry after a lady's secrets."

It was a final warning. Oscar opened and closed his mouth like a fish, unable to think of any way to respond. He felt guilty and awkward, as though he was a child caught prying in a room from which he was forbidden.

The reprimand had killed the conversation. Fortunately, Emile was on hand to rescue it before the silence became unbearable.

"Oh Miss O'Hara, you'll never guess what. Aisha caught the bouquet!"

Catherine seized on the change in subject as though it were a lifeline. "You're joking! How did she manage that?" she asked, her tone instantly bright again.

"Well, both Ramano and Cherry were desperate to catch it," Emile continued. "They were barging past everybody to get to it. But when they jumped for it they got tangled up in each other and fell down," He spread his arms theatrically. "And it went right to Aisha who had been standing right behind them. I tell you, it was a _great_ catch! One-handed, like it was a tennis ball." He imitated the catch by grasping the air.

"Gracious me. But good for her! I suppose that means she'll be the next member of Squad 7 to get married then," Catherine tilted her head, feigning thoughtfulness. "Who knows, maybe one of you boys will be the lucky groom!"

The boys grunted incredulously as one. "Maybe in ten years time," said Oscar.

"Heh! At least!" added Emile.

"Oh I know it won't be you, Emile," said Catherine. "After all I already know who _you _have your eye on."

"Huh?" Oscar's eyes flew to his brother. "You have your eye on someone?"

Emile's face was suddenly as red as the setting sun outside. "Miss O'Hara! You promised you wouldn't tell!" he protested.

Catherine pretended to hide behind her teacup. "Whoops! Sorry Emile. I won't say any more."

"So there's actually someone?" exclaimed Oscar, feeling amazed (and just a little hurt) that his brother hadn't told him. "Come on Em, who is it?"

"It's no-one! Forget it bro!" Emile shielded his face with his hand.

As he pestered his brother for the identity of his mystery crush, Oscar heard Catherine titter affectionately. He found himself relieved to hear that sound, to hear concrete evidence that the Catherine they had known, and loved, still existed. After the way she had been acting, he had been beginning to have his doubts.

He allowed himself a flicker of hope that the deep friendship that she had once shared with them could yet be revived.

***

As it turned out, Emile's story about the sure-handed Aisha was to be the springboard for an evening reminiscing about their days in Squad 7.

They'd had plenty to talk about. Even during the dark days of the war, precious memories had been made, like diamonds in a bucket of muck. Times when they had felt pride, fellowship and even _fun._ Like the time Jann had commandeered the canteen and made enough apple crumble for the entire squad. Or the time Montley had found a football and set up a match between the 'old'uns' and 'young'uns' of the Squad (a convincing five-two win to the young'uns, thanks in part to Oscar's sharp shooting and Emile's solid goalkeeping). Or when Commander Welkin had presented the whole of Squad 7 to Princess Cordelia, and how, nearly sick with nerves, they had humbly knelt under her shy smile as she gently pinned medals to the breasts of their uniforms.

They had talked until the sun had set, then Catherine had taken them out to the fire-pit. By the light of the campfire they had prepared a modest pot of vegetable soup – the boys peeling and chopping, and Catherine stirring and seasoning. Emile had the other two laughing out loud when he had held two cabbages above his head and loudly declared "VEG-TA-_BLES!_"

After dinner they had helped to wash up, had another cup on tea and sorted out the sleeping arrangements. "You two can share the bed," Catherine had said. "You're only little after all. There's room for both of you."

Oscar had been appalled. "Take your bed? We couldn't do that!"

"He's right!" Emile had added, "Real men don't kick women out of their beds!"

Catherine had just smiled fondly at them. "And real hostesses don't let their guests sleep on the floor. Don't worry about it. If you feel the need to prove yourselves as _real men_, you can do it tomorrow by chopping some firewood!"

They had relented in the end and now lay top-to-toe in Catherine's bed. As he lay with his head on Catherine's thin pillow, staring up at the glum grey ceiling of her cabin, Oscar was feeling anxious. It had been an enjoyable evening but he couldn't help but feel that had been because they the conversations had not strayed from the same safe theme – their time in Squad 7. Sure, it had been fun to reminisce but it seemed now that they had been steering clear of the one topic they had come so far to find out about.

Catherine had never talked about herself or her current life, not once the whole evening. She hadn't told them why she had left without a goodbye. Or why she hadn't come to the wedding. Or why she had chosen to live in this lonely shack so far beyond the reaches of civilisation and her dearest friends.

He wouldn't leave without her answers. In spite of the admonishment she had given him earlier in the evening, he was determined press those so-called secrets out of her. Both his conscience and curiosity demanded that he found out just what it was that had made her act so oddly, both today and since the end of the war.

He would have dwelt on matters further had he not been so exhausted. The arduous journey and fresh mountain air had tired him out though so he had little time to mull things over further before his eyes had closed for the night.

***

She made absolutely sure that the boys were asleep first. Then she stood in the opposite corner of the cabin and gave herself a sharp slap across the face.

_Just what do you think you're doing, Catherine? Where is your discipline?_

Her own mind was harsh and abrupt, like the mistress of the house scolding a mischievous puppy.

_You let you guard down tonight. Let yourself get swept away in nostalgia. That's not good enough. Remember, you had your reasons for coming out here. And it wasn't to have house-guests drop by willy-nilly._

Out of the corner of her eye she that Emile had left his empty mug on the floor by the wardrobe, so that it had been missed when they had washed up after dinner. She picked it up, found a damp cloth and started to wipe it furiously, channelling her frustration with herself into the motion.

_It's not as though I could have sent them away though. They were _my_ boys after all. And they did come all the way out here. _

She sighed, placed the clean cup on the shelf with the others. _It's your own fault really. You should have made a clean break with the squad before you left. Instead of thinking you could just slink away and that would be that._

How naïve she'd been. Thinking she could quietly remove herself from the lives of her friends, as though slipping out from the back row of the theatre mid-performance. Looking back, it was only a matter of time before someone had come after her.

Well, she would deal with it. Be done with Oscar, Emile and all her friends and immerse herself in the lonely life she had chosen for herself.

While those thoughts had been trudging through her head, her eyes had been staring vacantly into nothingness. Now they betrayed her by wandering over to the sleeping forms of the boys in her bed.

_All the same. You are enjoying yourself aren't you?_

She couldn't deny it. Once her initial shock had died down it had been so easy to slip back into the role of a mother–figure to them. Until she had seen them today she hadn't realised how much she had missed those boys. And to see them so unchanged from the Oscar and Emile she had known and to talk over old times together – it had been wonderful in all honesty. She hadn't enjoyed an evening like this one since the days of Squad 7.

_But that's how it starts. Good times breed love. Love that will only ever bring you pain. You know that much by now._

_They have their own lives and their own things to do. They don't need you and you need to try not to need them. Keep your life nice and separate. That's how it has to be. _

She had to show discipline. She couldn't let the twin forces of fun and nostalgia sway her resolve. She had to show herself that she could stand by the choice she had made for her life.

_Just go through the motions, look happy and see them on their way. And for the love of God, don't tell them to come back whenever they like. _

That would be tomorrow's mission. For tonight she had a different one. She couldn't risk harm coming to the boys while they were here – that would bring her the very pain that she had sought to escape. So long as they were under her roof it was her duty to protect them. Pulling up the chair to the door, she sat down, hugged her rifle to her chest and steeled herself for a long sleepless night.


	4. Three

_Catherine had been made the lead sniper of Squad 7 by default. Her previous military experience had counted for her of course, as well as her seniority. But more to the point, there had been no other feasible candidate among the rest of the snipers. Marina was too solitary, Cezary, too selfish and the two brothers, far too green. That had left only one suitable candidate for the job. _

_The independent nature of the sniper discipline meant that she was not deployed as a leader on the battlefield, as Rosie and Largo were. Rather her role was to act as a sniping consultant to Commander Welkin at the strategy meetings. Furthermore it was her duty to conduct training for the sniper team. _

_Now, on this warm summer morning, she watched as the four other snipers lay on their fronts, firing at the targets on the shooting range. Their performances today were mixed. Cezary and Marina's targets were both peppered with bullet-holes from their calm, precise shots. Unfortunately the Bielert brothers were having a harder time of it. Their shooting had been poor today and it was riling them up. As their frustration grew, their shots became more and more haphazard. Finally, after a fourth successive shot that had completely missed the target, Oscar turned and raised his gun behind his head as though ready to smash it on the ground. _

_"Damn it!"_

_"Now, now Oscar," Catherine said calmly. "Don't break your rifle. Leon has only just reset those sights."_

_"What's wrong with us Miss O'Hara?" Emile asked. "We can't hit anything today! It's like any skill we ever had has been sucked out of us!"_

_Catherine ponderously tapped her lip with an index finger. "I do have an idea." she said eventually. _

_"So what is it?" Oscar asked. He sounded desperate. _

_She didn't answer directly, just turned to the next station, indicating that they should watch. "Excuse us Marina," she said, "We're just going to observe you for a moment if you don't mind."_

_Marina gave them a cold sideways stare which clearly told them that yes, in fact, she _did_ mind _actually_. Nevertheless, she continued to aim at the target. She held the rifle steady for a full three seconds, then squeezed off a shot. It was a good one, only just to the right of the bull's eye._

"_Good shot," said Emile. Marina didn't acknowledge the compliment, instead just loaded another bullet._

_They watched as she once again steadily aligned the target in her sights and fired. This one hit dead centre. They watched her fire two more excellent shots, then Catherine spoke. _

"_All right boys. Any observations to make?"_

_The twins looked at each other blankly. _

"_Come on," Catherine encouraged. "What's the obvious difference between her technique and yours?"_

_Emile answered. "Well, she really takes her time."_

"_Precisely," said Catherine. "In fact I was counting – in the same time she fired those four shots, both of you had fired ten each. Yet hers were far more accurate. What does that tell you?"_

"_That we're rushing," said Oscar, stating what was now obvious. _

_She nodded. "Exactly. Marina takes her time with her shots, but makes each one count. You see, sniping is all about a few good shots. Scouts and troopers get away with spraying bullets in the rough direction of the enemy. However, we snipers can do as much with a single well-placed shot than a trooper can with a whole clip._

"_Remember that every shot costs a precious bullet. And every shot reveals a little more about your location to the enemy. That's why a sniper must make every shot he fires count. So take your time to line up a good one before you shoot. Do you understand?" _

"_Yes, Miss O'Hara," the boys chorused. Both of them were shuffling their feet, sheepish now that they knew what their mistake had been._

"_Good!" said Catherine, clasping her hands together. "Now it's time for a little exercise. Hand over your bullets please."_

_Confused, the boys nonetheless handed over their boxes of bullets. Catherine pocketed one and opened up the other. She tipped five bullets into each boy's outstretched palm. _

_"There. That's all you're getting for the rest of the session."_

_"What? But we've nearly half an hour to go!" said Oscar. _

_"I know. I want you to fire five shots within that time. But you'd better take your time to line them up." She grinned darkly. "Because if your score if less than 350 points with those five then you're running twenty laps of the camp!"_

_"What?!" exclaimed Oscar._

_"Twenty laps?" moaned Emile._

_"That's really unfair Miss O'Hara." Oscar said. _

_She shrugged, face all innocent. "Better make those shots count then."_

_"Yes Miss O'Hara," the boys replied despondently. No use trying to argue with her. No proper teacher would back down on an exercise so easily. _

_Oscar returned to his station, dropped back onto his front and held his rifle ready. He took a deep breath, tried to relax himself and quell those restlessness thoughts flowing through his mind. He thought he saw the shot, hesitated. A full ten seconds passed, as he made the minutest tweaks to his aim. Then he fired. _

_A perfect bull's-eye. _

_Delighted, he turned back to Catherine. She smiled at him, arms folded, as smug as could be. _

# # # # # # #

**Three**

Squad 7. Squad fucking 7.

Helmut Nonnenkof took a long swig and hammered the glass back down on the table, causing frothy beer to slosh over the rim. His memories of the day he had encountered Squad 7 were always there in his mind, existing as a numb pain that never truly went away. But that had changed when he had seen those boys today.

"_I fought in the War. Gallian Militia, Squad 7."_

Hearing those words had caused those memories to flare up with excruciating agony, as though he had just bitten down on an aching tooth. It was unbelievable. Living breathing members of the very squad who had ended his war, here in the very village.

"_She was in Squad 7 just like us."_

And the woman they had been looking for – that Catherine O'Hara – she had been one of them too, and here under his nose all this time. Fate truly was having a good laugh at his expense.

Ever since the encounter earlier that day, Helmut had been knocking back the booze and running that dreadful battle through his head, over and over. He remembered every detail so clearly, as though it was a permanent slideshow in his mind.

It had all happened shortly after the fall of Fouzen. His squad, fresh from levelling a militia outpost in the Naggier Plains, had been called in to support the Imperial retreat to the west. They had dug their heels in at the Marlberry Shore and established this camp, manned by both Helmut's squad and those soldiers fortunate or talented enough to have escaped from Fouzen. The plan was to hold their ground until reinforcements from the Empire arrived from the north by sea. Once they had come through, their ranks would be bolstered enough for a meaningful counter-attack on Fouzen to be attempted.

Defending the camp had been very easy so far, mainly due to the natural protection the terrain had given them. The cliffs were too harsh to scale and the only approach was a narrow, sandy slope, which was easily defendable. The gattling guns embedded in the cliffs by the entrance were enough to gun down any enemy foot-soldiers. Even if one slipped past them, there were enough tanks, turrets and troopers guarding the slope to take out even the pluckiest of invaders.

The day of _that_ battle had started quietly. In fact it had been quiet for a good week now, ever since the last failed Gallian attack had left the beach littered with bodies. He had been passing the time by playing cards with his right-hand men – young enthusiastic Klaus and Friedrich, the silent giant – and had just been dealt a very good hand when the first word of the enemy had come.

A young private had entered the dimly lit room and saluted. "Sir, we have Gallians approaching from the south."

Mind more on the flush in his hand than his duty as a commander, Helmut didn't raise his eyes from his cards when he replied. "And? How many?"

"Two tanks, plus roughly fifteen men. I believe they're militia Sir."

Helmut had scoffed at that. "Don't waste my time by telling me about militia! Those fools won't even get past the turrets. Just post a few men at the entrance camp to mop up anyone who gets through."

"Sir!" The soldier saluted again and left with the orders.

A little time passed. Several more hands were dealt. More cigarettes were smoked and stubbed out. Helmut's luck began to falter with several duff hands and Klaus's pile of winnings began to grow as a result.

And then, just as he had folded for the third time in a row, the same soldier from before staggered in. He looked extremely flustered now and his complexion had gone bone-white. "Sir! Captain Nonnenkof!"

"Not now!" Helmut had snapped in reply. He was desperate to turn his luck around and the three jacks in his hand were looking promising.

"Sir it's urgent!"

"What can be so urgent!?" Helmut shouted, slamming the table with his palm and scattering loose cards everywhere.

What little colour was left in the soldier's face bled away. "Sir. We've lost the lower two outposts. Post A is pinned down, but they won't last much longer."

The terrible facts failed to register in Helmut's mind. They'd lost two outposts?! That wasn't possible! The Gallians had only been reported a half-hour ago. There was no way an enemy squad –a militia squad to boot – could have captured two of their camps within that time! After all these were Gallian peasants – bugs to be squashed, not bulls to lock horns with!

He seized the terrified messenger by the shoulders. "What do you mean!? How did they get this far!?" he screamed, shaking him violently. "What about Lionell!? How did they get past his tank?"

The soldier cringed in his grasp. "Sergeant Lionell is dead Sir. They….er….they have lancers…"

_Those militia dogs!_ How could this be? How could Lionell, who had crushed so many Gallian skulls beneath the treads of his tank, have been defeated? He had been their number one tank operator, a member of his squad since the beginning and one of the few men he had genuinely regarded as a friend. Hearing of his death added fuel to Helmut's flaming rage.

"Damn it!" He threw the messenger aside and snatched up his trusty machine-gun. Klaus and Friedrich hastily ditched their cards for their weapons and followed as he strode outside.

Already his troops were assembling their defensive positions. Men were dumping sandbags to be used as barricades. His team of shock-troopers were already lined up, ready to fire on any Gallians that approached though the corridor between the cliffs. Engineers were frantically hauling ammunition to the tanks, which hadn't seen any action since they had first claimed this camp.

"Prepare yourselves!" Helmut bellowed in his loudest commanding voice. "We must protect this camp with our lives for the glory of the Empire!"

He barked out a few more quick orders then took up his own position behind the third rank of sandbags to wait for the attack to come. The outposts may have been taken but the main camp would stand. To lose this camp would be abysmal; to lose it to Gallian militia would be_ unthinkable_.

Klaus, who was crouched next to him, seemed to read his thoughts. "Don't worry Captain," he said, cocking his rifle and checking the sights. "No Gallian's gonna set foot in this camp while I'm still standing. Count on it!"

In spite of the situation, Helmut gave him a gruff smile and an encouraging slap on the helmet. Trust the ever-spirited Klaus to reassure him in times like this. It was one of the many reasons why he felt such affection for the boy.

Suddenly there was a loud _whumph._ In an instant the corridor was enveloped in dense smoke, too thick to see through.

"Open fire!" Helmut cried. He saw their game. If they thought some cheap party trick was going to let them sneak up to this camp, they were about to be sorely disappointed.

The four troopers let loose a hailstorm of bullets into the smoke. They kept firing until their clips were empty, spraying the whole width of the corridor. Helmut smiled grimly as his troopers reloaded. That would have thinned out the enemy's numbers a little, surely.

Then it came like a lightning bolt from heaven.

The sniper's bullet struck Klaus right in the temple. His head jerked sideways crazily, then his body went limp and he fell. Helmut was instantly by his side, catching him before he hit the ground.

"Klaus!" he screamed. _"Klaus!"_

He was already dead, eyes rolling lifelessly into the back of his head. Nevertheless Helmut shook him with all his might, as though doing so could bring him back to life.

"No! Klaus! _Liebling!"_

As he cradled his comrade's dead form, another shot came. This time it was a scout in the second row that went down. Instantly every solider dove down behind the sandbags, lest their own head be the next one to be shot.

"Stay on guard!" Helmut shouted, in command despite his loss.

Even as he issued the order, two forms came sprinting out of the smoke – a well-built redhead and a ghostly woman with soulless eyes. The sniper fire had distracted the front-line just long enough for them to reach the sandbags before anyone could react.

To his horror, Helmut saw they were holding flamethrowers.

The deadly tongues of fire smothered the four men in the first row. They screamed as the flames scorched their flesh, fell writhing in agony, dying horrible fiery deaths.

The sight of his men falling shook Helmut into action. Aiming only with instinct, he sprayed bullets in the direction of the ghost woman. None of them connected - she had already disappeared behind cover. Helmut slammed another magazine into his machine gun and continued his attack.

He was suddenly aware of the whirr of the tank-gun behind him, slowly training itself on the sandbags behind which the enemy troopers had taken refuge. This was the turning point – even if the shell didn't hit them dead on, it would blast away their cover and leave their reckless oppressors with nowhere to hide.

"What are you waiting for?!" he yelled. "Come on! FIRE!"

The tank exploded.

The blast knocked him right off his feet. Through the rain of shrapnel he could see the lancer – a mature woman with a blue headscarf – running back for cover behind the main building. Two scouts were firing to cover her retreat. Disgustingly both were women, blonde and insultingly beautiful.

So that had been their plan – to sneak around the other side of the building and take out the tanks from behind while the shock-troopers had drawn their attention. Such a simple tactic. Such a deadly one.

"Lancer!" he shouted, pointing her out as he rose. "Get her!" They couldn't let her get another shot in – if they lost the remaining tank, they were done for.

At the word of his commander, Friedrich raised his rifle. But before he could fire, he took a bullet in the back of his head. Helmut gaped in disbelief as he was showered with bits of his best friend's brain.

"_No!_" he screamed. First Klaus, now Friedrich. His two closest comrades, with whom he had shared beers, cigarettes and so many glorious victories. They had played countless games of cards, spent hours fishing whenever they were camped near water and fought side-by-side in every battle of the war. And now both of them were dead within the space of a single cruel minute.

It was happening, he realised. The death of his friends made it real. They were losing. Losing to Gallians. To militia. To delicate women who belonged in the sewing room, not on the battlefield. These pathetic foes were felling the fine men of his squad, who had fought for him with such fierce loyalty throughout the war.

All he could do was fire and scream. But the bullets he fired never hit their targets and the words he screamed were drowned out by those same bullets. And neither could stop his comrades from dying, one by one.

And then the ghost woman drew her arm back with a yell that could be heard even through the gunfire.

"_Hey Imps! Present for ya!" _

He had known what was coming, but didn't have the composure to react. He heard the grenade bounce once – a sickeningly _tock –_ and then suddenly bodies were flying everywhere. Everything went a brilliant blue then slowly faded to a deathly black.

***

None of the others had survived. By rights he himself should have been dead with them.

The blast had tossed him into the gap between the two storehouses behind the main building. When he had come to, every bone in his body had been shrieking in agony. The skin on his face had been singed to a crisp. His left arm was badly broken and, judging by the pain in his chest, a few ribs were bust too. Hauling himself to his feet had been excruciating and with every motion he had fought to not pass out from pain.

A quick recon of the area made it clear that the main Gallian force had already moved on, leaving only a few men on patrol. Using the trenches as cover he had been able to make his way down the beach undetected, though his progress had been slow with his body as battered as it was.

Luckily he had been able to obtain a first aid kit from one of his squad's fallen field medics and tend to his own wounds. With the painkillers flooding his bloodstream, he felt dozy but a lot more mobile. He had managed to scrounge up some rations too, which had given him the strength he needed to drag his wounded body off the battlefield and consider the path he was to take from here.

The loss of his comrades (and Klaus…dear Klaus) was too painful to confront directly and so he reduced his life to logical decisions so he could survive and move forward. His first instinct of course had been to make his way to the nearest Imperial camp and rejoin the fight. However he soon realised (judging by the movement of Gallian forces on the roads) that all friendly camps in the vicinity had fallen, meaning that the battle-map had been completely redrawn. With the Marlberry Shore lost, he was now far behind enemy lines. Worse still he was wounded, unarmed and very obviously of Imperial origin. A lone Imperial trooper would be shot on sight if stumbled upon in this region. And, as much at it tore at his pride, in his current condition he was neither capable of fighting, nor escaping should he be caught in one-on-one confrontation with a Gallian soldier.

So he took the one option left to him. He stole a bicycle from the next town he came to and made his way west to the isolated mountains, hoping to lie low and stay alive until the war took a more favourable turn for the Empire.

Unfortunately, that favourable turn had never come. So even now he remained here, trapped in the country he despised.

It had only been much later that he learned it had been Squad 7 who had beaten them that day. The famous squad that had bested the Empire. The knowledge that he had lost to such a formidable foe didn't comfort him in the slightest. Rather it exacerbated the pain – had he taken down the squad that day, perhaps the war would have taken an entirely different turn. As it was they had disgraced him and his men, and then gone on to do the very same to honourable Prince Maximillian.

Until today he had given up any prospects of revenge. As much as it choked him, a single soldier couldn't hope to get even with the legendary Squad 7, especially considering that the war had ended and the surviving squad members would now be strewn all over Gallia. It was just too impractical – he didn't have the energy, nor the resources to even consider it.

But this was different. How could he just sit by idly by when three members of the oh-so-loathed Squad 7 were here in the very village?

He had even been tempted to leave his beer half-finished, slam a couple of slugs in his shotgun and head on up the mountains to the woman's shack right away. And yet his soldier's instinct – not yet dulled by months of peace-time – had told him to wait. He had seen the woman named Catherine on those rare occasions when she had ventured into the village. She always carried herself cautiously, seeming to regard every person on the street as an enemy in disguise. While the cover of night would give him an advantage in stealth, it might also have put her on alert. Someone so wary – especially a woman living all by herself – may well have put up a defence against nocturnal visitors. An alarm or a trap perhaps. Or maybe she simply slept with a gun under her pillow. Whatever the case, a night-time attack came with risks.

Tomorrow was sure to offer a better opportunity. He would head over the next morning, by which time his senses would be unhindered by the booze and a visitor could approach the shack with less suspicion. Perhaps the three of them would even split up during the day, making them yet easier to pick off one at a time.

It was decided then. Tomorrow he would take his vengeance. It wouldn't be enough for his fallen comrades, screaming in their graves for retribution. But the heads of three Squad 7 snipers were all he could offer them. And who knew, maybe it would make it that little bit easier to confront the defeated soldier that stared pathetically back at him every time he looked in a mirror.

He signalled that he was ready to settle up. The old barman nodded back to him with the respect deserved to any regular who always paid for his beer.

"All done there Mister Nonnenkof?"

Helmut nodded back. "That's all for today," he said, placing a twenty DCT note on the counter to cover his tab.

"Thank you Mister Nonnenkof," the barman said, snatching up the money. "See you back here tomorrow eh?"

"Of course," Helmut replied as he pushed back his stool. He paused for a moment before turning away.

"Hey Frank? Set aside a bottle of _Randgrizer_ for me."

The barman's eyes lit up at the mention of the expensive scotch. "Yes Sir! Special occasion?"

"Oh no," said Helmut shouldering his jacket with a mysterious grin. "I just feel that tomorrow is going to be a very good day."


	5. Four

_"Show it to me again," said Catherine. _

_Oscar showed her. "There. You have to do it in one smooth motion. Go on, try it again."_

_"Right,"_ _Catherine held up her rifle. She snapped it open, tipped out the loaded bullet and, with her other hand, attempted to slot a fresh one straight back in. She missed the chamber though, so that the bullet slipped out of her hand to join its freshly-ejected brother on the floor of the rec room. _

_She huffed in frustration. "Darn! How on earth can you do it so quickly?"_

_"It's not that difficult Miss O'Hara," said Oscar, picking up the bullet and offering it back to her. "Just takes a knack"_

_"Once more," said Catherine. _

_Oscar nodded. He picked up a bullet from the table and held his rifle in the crook of his right arm. In a lightning quick movement, he ejected the bullet and slipped in the replacement the very instant it fell out of the chamber. The reload took the space of a second. _

"_There. Easy. You'll get the hang of it. Marina mastered it right away!"_

_At the mention of her name Marina briefly looked up from across the room, but then returned her attention to the book in her hands._

_With a deep breath to harness her concentration, Catherine tried it again. This time the bullet leapt out of her hand, rolled across the table and dropped apologetically on to the floor. Catherine irritably snapped her fingers. _

_"Wow," said Emile, who had been watching from the other side of the table. "Look's like there's something that even the great Miss O'Hara can't do!" _

_"That's not very helpful Emile dear," Catherine said admonishingly._

_"It's no big deal," said Oscar. "It's just a fast way to reload. And like you taught us before, being too quick and hasty can make you a worse sniper."_

_"That's true," she replied. "But this trick of yours mitigates one of the biggest weaknesses we have as snipers."_

_Here it came – Catherine's latest pearl of wisdom. Oscar and Emile sat attentive and ready to listen. Even Marina's ears pricked up a little. _

"_You're naked the second after you shoot," Catherine said. "The enemy knows where you fired from and you no longer have a bullet in the chamber. Until you reload, you're defenceless. If you can shorten that length of time by even a little, you'll be far less vulnerable. _

_"You know me - I always keep a loaded rifle by my side. In fact the only time when it isn't loaded is the instant after I've just fired. But if I can master that trick, it need never be unloaded again. Which is why I'm going to keep on trying until I get this right!" Decisively she picked up another bullet and readied herself for another go. _

_Emile sighed. "I'll go put the kettle on then. We could be here for a while."_

_# # # # # # #_

**Four**

Oscar had never been the soundest sleeper and the cold woke him in the small hours of the morning. The air in the cabin was icy, so that every part of him not under the covers felt frozen. His nose was dripping; he would probably wake up with a cold, he realised despondently.

To make things worse, his bladder was full and painful. He was loath to give up the little warmth he had harnessed under the covers, yet this was an ache that would not be ignored. Eventually he resigned himself to the inevitable. Taking care not to disturb Emile, he slipped out of the bed into the chill of the room.

His good night eyes accustomed to the darkness quickly. He saw Catherine sleeping in the chair right by the door, cuddling her rifle to her. With her so close to the only exit it would be difficult to slip outside. Nevertheless his bladder demanded attention and wasn't about to let him wait.

He reached out over her to grasp the door handle. As he did so he caught a glimpse of Catherine's sleeping face and froze where he stood.

Two tears were resting on her cheeks, clear and spherical like glass beads. Their trails twinkled traitorously in the moonlight that filtered through the gaps in the shutters. Shocked, Oscar took a step back. Why would Catherine be crying in her sleep?

He glanced from the door, back to her face again. He was tempted to go outside, piss for Gallia and then slip back into bed, pretending her hadn't seen those tears. That would be the easy option. And yet there was no way he could do that; his sense of decency wouldn't let him. Beside, behind those tears lay the answers to his questions, he was sure of it.

Reaching down, he touched her lightly on the shoulder. "Um…Miss O'Hara?"

Her reaction was as quick as a mousetrap.

She kicked out the chair from under herself, diving down to the floor shoulder-first. In the same motion she swung the barrel of her rifle up so that it was pointed in his direction. It was trained on his heart even before she hit the floor.

Oscar, shell-shocked, suddenly realised he was holding his hands up. For a horrible moment he thought she was actually going to shoot him. A slow second later though, recognition dawned in her eyes and she lowered her rifle with an embarrassed cough.

"Oh my. I'm sorry about that Oscar. You startled me."

_Likewise,_ Oscar thought as he reached down to help her up. "Kind of jumpy tonight, huh Miss O'Hara?"

"I suppose so," she said, taking his hand and climbing to her feet. "Soldier's instincts, eh? They never really leave you."

"If you say so."

She smiled at him. Somehow, despite her rapid movement, the tears were still clinging to her cheeks. The sight of them was too much for Oscar not to comment on.

"Miss O'Hara, please tell me the truth," he implored her. "I saw you crying. Is something wrong?"

"I'm fine Oscar dear," she said, quickly wiping the tears away. "Just a few sad memories is all. Nothing you need concern yourself about."

"But Miss O'Hara, I _am_ concerned," he asserted with a boldness that was strange for him. "Something's the matter and you're not telling us about it."

"Now what would make you think that?" Catherine asked. The lightness in her tone was clearly forced.

Oscar pressed his advantage. "You left without a word to anyone. You stayed away from the wedding. You hole yourself up out here, far from all your friends and the country you love. And now I find you crying in your sleep." He looked at her solidly, his stare demanding a response. "So why_ shouldn't_ I be concerned Miss O'Hara?"

Catherine sighed, her face finally falling. "Well, it's like I told you. Sad memories."

"Which sad memories?"

She shrugged. "Oh, too many of them to count."

"Can you tell me about them?" Oscar asked, trying not to sound too eager. "Maybe it will help. Please Miss O'Hara."

She suddenly turned to face him directly. "You're not going to let this lie are you?" she asked glumly. It was more of a statement than a question.

"I guess I'm not," he replied, surprising himself with his answer.

She studied the nail on her thumb for a second as though pondering something, then seemed to come to a resolution. "I suppose I should tell you the truth. You deserve that much."

She stood up decisively. "We don't want to wake your brother. Come on, we'll go outside and make a fire. You look like you need warming up."

***

By the time Oscar had come out of the bushes (feeling a lot more comfortable), Catherine had already made the fire. He sat down close to it and stretched his fingers out to warm them. Catherine was sat directly opposite him, staring into the fire, seemingly hypnotised by the flickering flames between them. She didn't acknowledge him as he sat and made no attempt to start talking. Oscar didn't say anything though. He didn't want to rush her; not now that she had agreed to tell him the truth.

For a while they sat in silence. Tonight the world seemed to be made up of just four components – himself, Catherine, the healthy fire and the dazzling moon shining down on them. Everything else was lost in the gloom surrounding them. It made for a surreal atmosphere, as though nothing else existed beyond the light cast by the flames.

Eventually Catherine spoke. Her voice was sad and heavy, like it was carrying the weight of the world.

"You want to know why I came out here don't you?"

Oscar nodded. Every move he made now was cautious. He didn't want her to sway her from her course.

"Well," she started. "The truth is I came here to escape."

"From what?"

"From any more pain," she said simply, as though that explained everything. Oscar didn't reply, urging her to go on with his silence.

"I've seen a lot of pain in my time," she continued. "I've fought through the two most horrific wars is modern history. I've seen so many terrible sights and lost a lot of things that I cared about."

"The war was terrible. That's true," Oscar said. "But what has that to do with you coming out here?"

Catherine shook her head, seemingly frustrated with herself. "I'm sorry, I'm not making myself very clear, am I? Maybe it would be best if I told you everything from the beginning." She breathed in, exhaled as a sigh. "It may take a little while though."

"That's all right," Oscar said. "I've got all night."

"Get comfy then. It may take that long." Absently caressing the rifle on her lap for reassurance, she began.

"The village I grew up in was called Calder. It was a typical small country village just a little way to the east of Bruhl. I was an only child, the daughter of the village doctor and a soldier." She suddenly chuckled. "In fact they first met when he was operating on her shoulder to remove a bullet. I always thought that was rather romantic in a strange sort of way."

"We got on well as a family. Of course Father always had to work late and Mother could be away on duty for weeks at a time. But they did the very best they could to find time for me. Even if he was tired from a long day at the surgery, Father would always help me with my homework. And Mother, she loved to play dolls with me and would read me a bedtime story every single night she was home. And when I was older, we all went camping together down in Kloden. I really treasured those days, all the time we spent walking through the woods, spotting birds, swimming in the lakes. Thinking back, they did everything they could to give me the best childhood I could have had.

"Of course, everything changed when EW1 broke out. Both of them were sent to the front line and I was left to fend for myself.

"At first I helped where I could around the village. As the war wore on though, I began restless until I could no longer bear to stay put. I was desperately afraid for my parents. The thought of them suffering or dead on some bleak battlefield was more than I could abide.

"And so I left to enlist in the militia. I thought by doing so, I would be able to find Mother and Father and fight together with them to bring this war to an end. Of course that turned out to be just a childish fantasy. The only thing I found on the front lines were legions of bloodthirsty Imps."

She closed her eyes as she recounted her horrible memories. "It was such an awful war, so different in nature to the last one. You see in EW2, the use of tanks gave the attacking side the advantage. The opposite was true in EW1 – we dug trenches and squatted in them for months on end. It made for prolonged suffering, fighting and dying to win mere feet of territory, rather than the quick, decisive results like those we won with the Edelweiss.

"I was only thirteen when I enlisted but my childhood died even as my fellow soldiers did. It had to – you know as well as I do that you don't last long in war if you don't learn to cope with the harsh realities it brings.

"I won't go over every sordid detail – I've told you enough of my war stories after all. But needless to say, by some miracle I survived and was able to return home to Calder. Unfortunately there wasn't much of it to go back to."

Her voice began to tremble now. "Calder was hit hard by Imperial raids during the war. I had known that beforehand, but still I wasn't prepared to see just how little of the town had survived.

"All the buildings I had grown up knowing were now no more than rubble. The village-hall, the church, even the old school-house where I had learned my letters and numbers – every one had been reduced to rubble. Everybody had long since evacuated so it was as though the village had never existed in the first place. But that wasn't even the worst part."

She swallowed, had to physically force the words from her throat. "My parents never came home."

Oscar, having anticipated this twist in the story, made a sympathetic sound. The loss of parents before their time was something he and Emile could relate all too well, their own parents having been lost a long time ago. The fact was that people didn't live long in an age of warfare such as this one. Only the most blessed hadn't lost loved ones to the two great wars, or their cruel lingering legacies.

"It was only a while later that I learned how they died," she continued, squinting back her tears. "Father had been caught in a mortar blast and died from his wounds, while Mother had been captured early in the war and was shot during an escape attempt.

"During the war I had deluded myself with the image of returning home with my parents, rebuilding the village and life going on as it ever had before. It was dreams such as those which gave you the strength to fight. To have those dreams denied seemed unbearably cruel to me.

She paused to remove a hanky from her pocket and gave her nose a good sharp blow. "And it wasn't just them," she continued, stuffing it back in her pocket. "No-one else came back either. I didn't know if they were dead, displaced or simply slow in coming home. But whatever the case, none of the other villagers returned. The village was now just a corpse of what it had once been. I was left alone there.

"And so, when it became obvious that the life I had once known had been lost forever I upped and left. It was heart-breaking, but in the aftermath of the war, no-one had much time to feel sorry for themselves. There was work to be done and a country to rebuild after all.

Her tone changed now – the sorrow was replaced with a business-like efficiency. Oscar continued to listen, transfixed.

"I found myself working in a factory in the next town over. It wasn't glamorous or well-paid, but it was good honest work and it kept my mind off my troubles. After all it's hard to grieve when you're exhausted from a twelve-hour shift at a sewing machine.

"I lived the same dull work-day over and over again for the next few years. As time passed I gradually came to terms with the loss of my parents and my former life. I began to believe that life still had something to offer me. I started to have dreams for the future again.

"I had already known that I wouldn't follow in my parent's footsteps – after all the war had made me sick and tired of the sight of blood. But I didn't want to waste the rest of my days in that miserable factory. Then one day I saw an advert in the paper for a part-time librarian. I put myself forward for it and they gave me the job."

She leaned forward now and for the first time, Oscar saw a little spark in her expression. "It wasn't just any library I was working at though. It was the library at Cliffewick College."

"Cliffewick College?" Oscar asked. The name was familiar, though he didn't know why."

Catherine tittered, though without much humour. "You always did have a few gaps in your general knowledge didn't you Oscar?" she said chidingly. "Cliffewick's the most prestigious private school in Southern Gallia."

"Oh wow," said Oscar, "Guess you had quite a few books to take care of then."

"I certainly did. Anyway, I enjoyed the job and worked hard. Soon I was made full-time. And then, after a couple of years there, I was made a teaching assistant."

"You were a teacher?" Oscar asked. He had never known that.

"No," she corrected him. "A teaching _assistant_. I never took the exams to become a fully-fledged teacher. Mine was a supporting role, assisting teachers in the classroom, tutoring children of one-to-one basis, filling in for absent colleagues, supervising detention – that kind of thing. Oh, and I also gave music lessons."

"You could play music?" Oscar asked, genuinely surprised.

She nodded, with just the tiniest flicker of pride. "I used to be able to play the flute. My parents paid for lessons when I was a child."

"Were you any good?"

"Good enough to teach beginners at least."

Her gaze became distant now as though she was staring straight into the happier memories of her past. "I loved that job. I really did. It earned me a very reasonable wage, gave me plenty of variety and I was able to meet a great many very special people.

"I adored the children there, even though they seemed to grow up and move on so quickly. And I had plenty of firm friends among the other teaching-staff. There was Terry, Louise, Jennifer, Phillip, Paula…," she said, listing them on her fingers. "Oh, but my best friend was Marsha Welslip. She was one of the Literature teachers." A fond look passed over her face. "She was an absolute treasure, so passionate about her job. She was desperate for everyone to love the stories she taught just as much as she did. I helped her out by taking the children in small groups and going over passages in detail.

"You always were good with words," said Oscar. He was rewarded with the slightest of side-smiles.

"She was my best friend but just one of many young teachers there at Cliffewick. We were a close-knit group. We always used to meet up on the campus coffee-shop during our free-periods, to keep each other company while we marked our exercise papers. Often we went out for a drink in the evenings and sometimes on the weekends, we went on day-trips to Randgriz.

"They were a great bunch. Of course, the staff changed over time but I was never short of friends," She suddenly looked away shyly. "In fact I even had a couple of sweethearts among them."

"You did!?" Oscar exclaimed, his interest piqued enough to interrupt. Somehow it was hard to imagine Catherine as a girl on some man's arm. "How did they work out?"

She shrugged. "The first one broke _my_ heart, _I_ broke the second one's heart. So I suppose the score was one apiece really," she said with dark humour.

"But what I have made for myself was a life where I was happy. I had good friends, eager pupils, a job I enjoyed and enough money to live comfortably and still be able to afford a trip to the coast once a year.

She paused and bit her lip. "Then along came EW2."

"EW2," repeated Oscar, nodding his head knowingly. Here was a topic he knew plenty about.

"There was a time when it was believed that EW1 would be the war to end all wars," she said wistfully. "That was naive of course, especially given that neither side claimed an outright victory. But no-one wanted to believe that such a terrible war could repeat itself."

"And yet it did," said Oscar. "Thanks to those bloody Imps."

Catherine nodded. "I was in the staffroom marking test-papers when they made the announced the declaration of war on the radio. That was an awful moment, especially for those of us who remembered the horrors of the first war.

"But of course, I had to enlist again. How could I not? I had something that I wanted to protect. You know the feeling, don't you?"

"Of course I do," said Oscar. He had been protecting someone his whole life.

"Unfortunately I wasn't able to protect my dear ones."

"What do you mean?" Oscar asked, dreading the answer.

Catherine cast her eyes down to her interlinked fingers, resting on top of the rifle on her lap. "Cliffewick was captured by the Imperial army early in the war," she said, her low voice at odds with the terrible events she was describing. "Many teachers died trying to defend if and lead the children to safety. Old Mister Dodds, who had been headmaster at Cliffewick for four decades, died with a hunting-rifle in his hands trying to protect his school. Leonard Cole, my second sweetheart, was also shot dead. Also killed were Mr. Wilson, the Head of Mathematics, and Miss Dawson, the pottery teacher – that was the Louise I mentioned earlier. Their deaths were particularly tragic; you see, he had proposed to her just days before the war broke out.

"Once they had captured it, the Imps used the campus as a base of operations and POW camp. Those teachers and pupils who hadn't managed to escape spent the whole remainder of the war there.

"The school was occupied for several months. However when the Imperial front retreated to Naggiar, they were forced to abandon it. But they didn't fancy letting us have our beloved school back. So before they left, they blew it up.

"Blew it up?!" exclaimed Oscar incredulously.

Catherine nodded sadly. "They set off a bomb in every single building on campus."

"Good God," whispered Oscar. "_Why?"_

"They knew that the school had a prominent reputation in Gallia. I suppose they felt by destroying it they won a little victory against us, even as they were defeated on the battle-field."

"Those bloody Imps," Oscar hissed furiously. "We will _never_ understand how they can be so evil."

"That wasn't even the worst of it," said Catherine, voice once again choked. "Marsha, my best friend for all those years, died that day too. You see, they had released her, along with the other prisoners there. But she saw what the Imps were planning to do and ran back to try and save the library. She can't have been in her right mind – she could never have disarmed the bomb by herself after all. But I imagine she just couldn't bear the thought of all those precious books going up in smoke."

Tears were visibly running down her face now, their trails reflecting the light from the fire. "She died buried under the charred remains of the books she loved so much. And she was just one of so many of Cliffewick's teachers that died during the course of the war. Some died protecting the school, some on the battlefield, some to illness in the POW camps. And for those ones who survived, like me, there wasn't even a school to come back to. Cliffewick is now consigned to the history."

She took her hanky from her pocket once more and dabbed pathetically at her eyes. "Once again I had been foolish enough to believe that by fighting I could preserve the life I knew and protect the people I cared about. But when I learned of Cliffewick's demise, it became clear to me that the second life I had built for myself had now also been destroyed."

With that she went silent, head hung mournfully. Oscar sensed it was his turn to speak. The story of Catherine's life had been a lot to take in and he wasn't sure quite how to react. He processed the facts through his head once more and chose his words with caution before he spoke.

"I think I'm starting to understand now Miss O'Hara," he said. "You've suffered a lot from the two wars. Heck, a lot of people have. It's no wonder that you're feeling disheartened, with all that you've lost. But Miss O'Hara, we have a chance for a fresh start now. The wars have ended and the fighting has finished."

"Do you really believe that?"

Her question caught him cold and he didn't know what to say. She carried on relentlessly. "Of course there's a truce now. But how long do you think it will last?" she asked, spreading her arms hopelessly. "How many years of peace will we have this time? How many more wars will Gallia have to fight in the future? How many will she withstand before she finally loses one and falls? After all, next time we might not have a Squad 7 or a Valkyria. Gallia might fall as easily as Maximillian first thought it would."

She shook her head in utter dismay. "I can't stand to build another life just to see it taken by the next great war. To work for a purpose only to see it shattered. To care for people only to have them die. It's just too much to ask of me. After everything that's happened, I've had enough of _feeling_ and _hurting_. All I want now is peace." Her eyes were suddenly on him, wide and demanding. "Don't you think I've earned that much?"

A little peace was the least that the fighting men and women of Squad 7 had earned, Oscar reckoned. But a life without feelings and emotions - was that really all that Catherine wanted now? Could that possibly be enough for her? He was about to ask that question, but was cut off when she carried on speaking.

"Now that I've told you all this, I'd like to ask a favour of you."

"Anything Miss O'Hara," he said, meaning it.

She refused to meet his eye when she said, "You must make me a promise. Tomorrow, you and Emile will go back down the mountain and live the best lives you can. And you will never return here."

Her words struck him like a sniper's bullet. For a moment all he could do was jabber. "No….we couldn't…how could we…?" He lolled his head, fighting for words. "Miss O'Hara…how could you turn us away like that?" His disbelief flared up into anger, making him raise his voice. "You were our mentor! And our friend! We fought together…we _won the war_ together! How can you cast us aside after everything we've been through?" He felt sudden tears approaching – quelled them through sheer force of will.

She cringed, as though stifling her own tears. "Please Oscar, don't think of it like that. I treasured the time we had together in Squad 7, I truly did and I always will. You and Emile became very special to me during that time. This is not a case of me casting you aside," she said with an emphatic hand gesture. "Think of it more like a separation for mutual benefit."

"I don't understand."

"Yes you do," she said. "You're young boys, young and lovely. You'll have no trouble finding other lovely people who deserve your friendship. You'll find sweethearts, marry, have children of your own. Trust me, your lives will be full of wonderful people."

She turned away from him once more. "You don't need this sad old woman. It's best that you leave her in peace."

"Miss O'Hara…" Oscar breathed.

She cut off his protest with a raised hand. "Enough Oscar. I've made my decision. I must stay here alone. I've watched two lives that I've built be lost to war. A third life…that's a life too many.

"Please don't say anything more Oscar. It's time for you to go back to bed. After all, you have a long walk home tomorrow."

She rested her rifle on her shoulder now, turned her head away from him and sat utterly still. It was clear that the conversation was now over.

That was just as well, for Oscar couldn't find anything to say. Catherine's stone-cold rejection of him from her life was like a fist in his stomach, knocking all words out of him. It overwhelmed his tired mind, making him feel dead and useless. Suddenly, he was eager for his bed. This was all too much to deal with right now – he needed sleep to process the facts, to put his emotions in some kind of order.

"Good night, Miss O'Hara," was all he could say as he stood to leave. Even though she had told him, quite clearly, to go, it felt as though he was abandoning her.

As he wandered back to the cabin he cast one last glance over at the woman sitting by the fire. He imagined her like this, a solitary figure among the gloomy mountains, living here lonely for the rest of her days. The image depressed him to the edge of tears. Was this forlorn existence really all that she had fought for?

He didn't have an answer to that. All he knew was that he was on the verge of losing precious Catherine O'Hara from his life forever. And that thought was enough to finally set the tears flowing as he let himself back into the cabin.

**A/N – Good GRIEF that was a difficult chapter to write! But I really hope you enjoyed reading it. This was quite a key chapter, so I'd be very interested in hearing what you think of it. **

**Many thanks for reading this far into the story!**


	6. Five

_War waited for no man and moments when Squad 7 weren't fighting, or training to fight, were very few indeed. Nevertheless Catherine tried to snatch an odd ten minutes every day to settle down with a cup of tea and her reading book. Today though, that little pleasure was being interrupted by a ruckus outside. With a suffering sigh, she slipped her bookmark onto her page and went to see what the fuss was about. _

_As she wandered outside she was shocked to see two squad members being held apart from one another. Oscar's lip was bleeding and Cezary's left eye was bruised and swollen. Ramona and Cherry stood a little away from them, looking appalled, while Susie was utterly white-faced and seemed ready to faint. _

"_Goodness! What's going on here?" Catherine asked as she approached. _

_Ramona sidled over to her. "Oscar and Cezary had a little scuffle," she whispered. "Cezary made a comment about Emile's health holding up the team and Oscar struck him."_

"_Bastard!" Oscar was shouting. He managed to slip an arm free from Hannes's grasp and took a swipe at the other sniper, though he was just out of reach. Hannes quickly restrained him again before he could have another go._

"_Damn kid!" Cezary muttered fiercely. "You'll be sorry for starting a fight with me!" He wasn't struggling against his captor though, wisely accepting that he didn't have the strength to break free of Rosina's hold._

_Oscar meanwhile was thrashing in Hannes's steadfast grip, desperately trying to break free so he could have at the other sniper. "Let me go!" he yelled. _

_Catherine swept in front of him, placing a hand on each shoulder. "Oscar, pull yourself together!" she said, shaking him firmly. _

"_Miss O'Hara, you should have heard what he said about Em!" Oscar blurted. "He said that…"_

"_I don't care what he said," she told him levelly. "You need to calm down."_

_Her words seeped past his rage the way no-one else's could have. While Oscar breathing remained heavy and dangerous, he stopped trying to pull free of Hannes's hold on him. _

_At that very moment Welkin came striding around the corner, with Aisha (who presumably had been the telltale) in tow. His fists were clenched and he looked as cross as Catherine had even seen him. _

_"Hey! Just what do you two think you're doing?!" he shouted in the authoritative voice which he rarely deployed off the battlefield. _

_Both culprits spoke at the same time._

"_That bastard…"_

"_That damn kid…"_

_"I don't want to hear it," Welkin bellowed. "I will see both of you in my office in ten minutes!"_

_Without waiting for any type of reply, he turned on his heal and strode away. _

_"Oh dear," Catherine muttered to herself. "Hannes, can you take care of Oscar for a bit?"_

"_Yeah Ma'am," the gruff trooper replied. _

"_Take him to his room and calm him down. I'll be right back."_

_She gave Oscar a quick pat on the cheek, then turned and jogged after Squad 7's young commander. She caught up with him just as he was about to head inside to his office. _

_"Sir! Might I have a moment?"_

_Welkin, who already has his hand on the doorknob, turned back to face her. The crossness in his face had faded away already; Catherine wondered how much of it had been for show._

"_Oh, sure Catherine," he said. "Do you want to come inside?"_

_"No thank you Sir, this shouldn't take long." She stood to attention in front of him, then bowed her head remorsefully. "I wish to apologise for the conduct of my sniper team." _

_Welkin blinked, surprised. "Oh, that's not your fault Catherine. Squad 7 are a passionate bunch. That's a good thing of course, but it does mean that tempers flare every now and then."_

_"All the same I apologise," she said, dipping her head respectfully again. _

_"Well if you insist, then your apology accepted," said Welkin. "But that's not the only reason you came to me was it? You want to know how they're going to be punished don't you?"_

_"That's right Sir," Catherine said. There was no point in denying it. _

_Welkin sighed, fiddled with his cap. "I don't like doing it. But I have to follow protocol on this. Both of them will get twenty-four hours in the stockade."_

_Catherine's eyes widened in panic. "Please Sir, you can't do that!"_

_"I'm afraid I have to Catherine," Welkin said. "I don't mind if they argue. But I have to draw the line when they start fighting each other. We've got enough enemies as it is without raising our hands to each other."_

_"I know. And I can't defend what they've done. Lock Cezary up. That's fine with me – he could do with being taken down a peg or two in all honesty. But I must ask that you don't do the same to Oscar."_

"_I know he's your student Catherine," Welkin said. "But I can't make an exception just because of that."_

"_Yes Sir, he is my student," Catherine stated. "Because of that I've come to know what's best for him." _

"_How do you mean?"_

_She sighed. "You see, Oscar is a confidence worker. He has so much talent, but he needs constant reassurance to make the best of it. Without it, his demons get the better of him. _

"_A day in confinement will not be good for him. He'll brood on things, wear himself down. It'll break down the little self-belief that I've been able to instil in him."_

_Welkin scratched behind his ear in an unconscious guilty gesture. "I see what you're saying. But it'll be bad news to set a precedent that striking a team-member won't be punished."_

_"I'm not saying that he shouldn't be punished. I'm saying delegate the punishment to me."_

_Welkin gave her a curious look. "Oh? What do you have in mind?"_

_"I'm not totally sure yet," she said, touching the corner of her mouth thoughtfully. "But it will involve the scolding of a lifetime and more laps around the base than you can count."_

_Welkin chuckled. "Sounds worse than any punishment I could give him! Okay then Catherine, I'll leave him to you."_

_Not for the first time, Catherine thanked the heavens for granting them such a considerate leader. "Thank you very much Sir," she said, gratefully saluting him before heading off to deal with her charge. _

# # # # # # #

**Five **

"Okay," said Emile once Oscar had finished. "So what do we do now?"

The two brothers were outside chopping wood. It was a small way of repaying Catherine for letting them stay the night, and also allowed their hostess a little private time to wash and change clothes. The pair of them had formed an efficient two-man production line, with Oscar (the stronger of the two) chopping and Emile (ever dexterous) stacking. As they worked, Oscar had filled Emile in on the late-night conversation he'd had with their former mentor. His brother's brow had furrowed more and more with every miserable detail that he'd told him.

"What do you mean 'what do we do'? There's nothing we _can_ do," Oscar replied, sinking the axe deep into the log in front of him. "Her mind's made up."

"So you're just going to accept it?" Emile said incredulously. With his voice raised the childish lilt in his accent was more pronounced than ever. "Sheesh Osc, you're always like this!"

"What does that mean?" Oscar asked, eying him tetchily as he eased the axe free.

"I mean you're being so negative." Emile pointed at him accusingly with a shard of wood. "This is _Miss O'Hara_ we're talking about! How can we just let her walk out of our lives?"

"What do you suggest we do then?" Oscar spat. "Throw a sack over her head and drag her away with us, kicking and screaming?!"

Emile didn't reply, but his eyes still sizzled.

Oscar sighed. "Look, I don't like it either. But we don't have the right to tell her how to live her life."

His brother glared at him a moment longer, but finally succumbed and looked away. "I thought she'd stay with us, even after the War ended," he murmured. "And not just as our mentor." He returned his gaze wistfully to Oscar. "I thought she could be our …"

"I know. Don't say it. You know I felt the same way," said Oscar. "But we can't force her to be that for us." The downcast look on his younger brother's face made him add, "But we'll always have each other Em."

"Sure we will. But who will Miss O'Hara have?" Emile said back.

Oscar didn't have an answer to that. He couldn't blame his brother for feeling disappointed and angry. After all, he had felt the very same way last night.

Sleeping on the conversation and mulling it over in the light of day had made him see the issue with logic, rather than just feelings alone. He was beginning to understand how Catherine's pain could drive her to isolate herself. After all, he lived every day with the fear that Emile's health might give out, knowing that if it did his life would be torn apart. Catherine had lost things equally precious to her. Her life had been torn apart on two occasions now. So why shouldn't she hide from the world that gave her such pain?

And yet in spite of that it still seemed wrong to him...

He suddenly wished that Coby or Juno were here to offer their opinions on the matter. Both of them had been close to Catherine and, with their intelligence and confidence, would surely have known exactly how to deal with the situation. But who was he, a young country-boy to say what was best for someone – especially a woman so much wiser than himself?

His musings were interrupted when he realised that Emile was speaking to him. "Maybe we can't change her mind about staying here," he was saying. "But isn't there anything else we can do to help her?"

"How do you mean?" Oscar asked.

Emile spread his arms hopelessly. "I don't know. Something to cheer her up a little. Maybe something to remind her that she still as friends who love her, even if she doesn't want them around."

Oscar lifted the axe and decisively hacked it into the log. "You've got something in mind bro. Just spill it."

Emile smirked wanly, realising that he had been caught out. "I was thinking I could paint her a picture for her wall. You know, to brighten up her shack a little."

Oscar propped the axe on the chopping block thoughtfully. It only took him a second to consider it before his face perked up.

"Hey, yeah! Great idea Em, go for it!"

"Well, sure," said Emile, pleased with his brother's enthusiasm. "I can splatter something up no problem. But what shall I paint?"

"Hmm..." Oscar pondered this for a moment. Then his eyes lit up with sudden inspiration. He picked up his jacket from where he had dumped it on the ground. He fished his hand in the pocket and brought out his photo, the one taken on the training field, in which Catherine stood and smiled with an affectionate hand on each boy's shoulder.

"Here. Can you paint this, bro?"

Emile's face broke into an excited grin. "You bet I can bro! It'll be tough to get the colour right, but I can do it!" He clenched his fist in front of himself, his excitement threatening to overwhelm him. "That's _brilliant_ Osc! This is just what she needs to see to remind her of the time we had together."

Before Oscar could speak again, the door to the shack rattled and opened. Emile quickly snatched the photo off his brother and stuffed it in his jacket as Catherine emerged.

"How are you getting on boys?" she asked. After the events last night her smile seemed painfully forced. She clearly wasn't sure how much Oscar had told Emile, and as a result seemed caught between two roles.

"Getting through it, little by little," Oscar said, wiping his brow. "We'll have the whole lot done in another half-hour I reckon."

"Oh don't worry about it. That pile that you've cut for me will last me a good long time," she said. "You should take a wee rest. I'll get you a cool drink."

She headed over to fetch their refreshment from the water-butt by the side of the shack. While her back was turned, Oscar leaned in close to his brother. "How long will you need to paint it?" he whispered.

"Well, I don't want to rush it," Emile replied quietly. "I'll need a full day if I'm to do it properly. But if you can get her out of the house for a couple of hours I could at least get the outlines done for her."

"That'll be difficult Em," said Oscar. "She wants us gone as soon as possible. She'll probably be expecting us to leave as soon as we've had a breather. How are we going to convince her to let us stay a whole extra day?"

"Don't worry about that, bro," Emile said, snatching a sly glance at Catherine's turned back. "I've got it covered. All we need is a little white lie."

He bent down to snatch up a handful of dust, which he held up to his mouth. Before Oscar could stop him he inhaled the whole lot, which sent him down on his haunches spluttering.

"Em, what are you doing?" Oscar immediately went down by his side, thumping his back. Emile hacked painfully as the dust clogged up his already weak lungs. He may have inflicted himself with this but his reaction was very real.

A second later, Catherine was on his other side, shaking his shoulder with concern. "Emile! What's the matter?"

Emile cleared his throat and gathered his voice back. "Sorry Miss O'Hara," he wheezed. "I'm okay, just this damn body getting the better of me again."

"Oh my. You poor thing. Quick Oscar, get him to bed. I'll go fetch the doctor right away."

"There's no need for that Miss O'Hara. I'm fine, really I am," said Emile, through coughs. "I think I overdid it yesterday. I'll be okay today though. It'll be much easier going back downhill."

"Oh no, you can't go anywhere in such a condition," Catherine said, gently taking him by the shoulders. "Quick, get into bed. You need to rest."

The three of them headed back into the shack, Emile still coughing from the dust. Catherine ushered him into the bed while Oscar fetched him a glass of water to place by his bedside. Catherine set a small canister, which glowed an eerie blue, next to it.

"There. Some ragnaid if you need it."

"I'll be fine Miss O'Hara," said Emile. A little guilt at Catherine's overblown reaction had crept into his tone. "We really need to get on the road…"

"No, I won't hear of it." She paused then slowly said, "You can stay another night. It's no trouble for me."

Upon hearing that, Oscar felt a sudden surge of hope. He knew full well that it _was_ trouble for her, letting them intrude for longer in a life which, she had told Oscar in no uncertain terms, was to be solitary from now on. Yet in spite of that she was willing to let them stay an awkward extra night, for the sake of Emile's well-being. It suggested that she did still care for them on some level at least, even if she didn't want them in her life any longer. It made Oscar feel all the more ashamed to have tricked her like this.

"Try to rest up for now," Catherine said. "I have to head into town anyway. I'll pick you up some medicine while I'm there, and some food to build up your strength."

"I'll lend a hand," said Oscar, seeing his chance. If he went along with her, he could stall her long enough to give Emile the time he needed.

Catherine gave him an odd glance, seeming surprised at his eagerness to volunteer. "Shouldn't you stay here with you brother?" she asked.

"He's fine. He needs rest, that's all." He gestured at his brother with his chin. "You going to get some sleep now Em?"

"Yeah, I reckon so." Emile replied, playing along.

"Might as well leave him alone them," Oscar said. He hoped their charade wasn't as obvious as it was sounding to him.

If Catherine was suspicious though, she didn't show it. "Well, I could use the hand carrying the load back," she said. "Will you be all right by yourself for a while Emile?"

"Just fine, Miss O'Hara," he said, giving her a weak thumbs-up.

"Right then." She shouldered her rifle. "See you later then. Come on Oscar, let's go." She headed out the door, her sharp, self-conscious movements showing how ill at ease she was. Oscar supposed that anyone would be uncomfortable if they had to go shopping with a person who you had verbally rejected from your life.

Before following her out, Oscar faced his brother once more. "That was rather shameless," he muttered to him. "I don't think even Edy could act as well as that."

"Hey, it's a little white lie just like I said," Emile retorted. "Besides I told her I was fine and that was the truth. She assumed the rest by herself."

"All the same…"

"Come on bro. How else was she going to let us stay?"

"Well, okay," Oscar said, conceding. "I'll try and fetch you an hour or two. Do your best with the picture."

"You know I will bro," Emile replied.

***

The silence lasted the whole way down the mountain. Fortunately, in order to stay upright on the loose stony trail, they had to pay most of their attention to their own feet, rather than to each other. Yet it saddened Oscar how what once would have been a pleasant hike in his mentor's company had become an awkward traipse with a practical stranger.

The village of Ettau was as lifeless as Oscar remembered it. Since it was early in the day he had expected to see at least a few people going about their daily chores. But no, the village felt just as abandoned and soulless as it had before. The streets were empty and no sounds could be heard save for the lonely wind which whistled around the humble buildings. The only sign of life was a skeletal grey cat, which yawned aggressively at them before scuttling away into an alley.

"So where do we go first?" Oscar asked. It was the first time either of them had spoken since they'd set out.

"There's only one place to go – Neill's grocery store," replied Catherine. "There's not much choice when it comes to shopping in a village of this size. I'm afraid dinner will have to be something from a tin tonight. Fresh vegetables are only available to buy here on market-day…and that was yesterday."

"That's okay Miss O'Hara," Oscar said. Once again he found himself contemplating the desolation of this place. Down in the lush countryside of Gallia you could barely take a step without treading on a vegetable patch or walking into a fruit-tree. Fresh food was plentiful. In light of that it seemed like madness to Oscar to live on this bleak mountain where nothing could grow and fresh veggies could only be bought (at a hefty premium he supposed) once a week. It would have sent Largo into a murderous rage if he'd known about it, he was sure.

Just then they came to a T-junction. Oscar instinctively headed to the right, but Catherine stopped him and pointed in the other direction. "Other way Oscar dear."

The last word caused Oscar to stop in his tracks. Catherine had heard her slip on the tongue too and looked away with a sheepish cough. "Come on, let's go," she said, as though moving on could cover up her mistake. Oscar followed her, not knowing quite what to make of it. Had it been an old habit, or a true feeling breaking through?

They wandered into the main street. At first it seemed as deserted as the rest of the village, but then Oscar saw someone coming down towards them. A large man in a thick brown coat which swamped the whole of his hulking form. His face was blotched from a bad burn, and was set in a frown as grim as a statue. Unnervingly, as he approached his eyes remained on them, full of what could only be called hatred. Oscar shuddered, the hackles on the back of his neck rising up. Catherine must have sensed the hostility of this man as well, for her hand unconsciously touched the rifle on her back.

Oscar adjusted his path to allow the stranger to pass them by. As they drew level, he mumbled a 'good day' to him. The man didn't acknowledge him with anything more than the same aggressive look.

Once the man had walked a comfortable distance away, the pair relaxed again. "You have to be careful in this village," Catherine said. "They're not very fond of strangers here."

"Yeah, we found that out yesterday," Oscar said, remembering the locals in the tavern. A sudden thought occurred to him. "What about you Miss O'Hara? Are you still a stranger to them? Or have they accepted you as one of the locals?"

Catherine's face became stern. "You know I didn't come here to make friends Oscar," she replied admonishingly.

***

Emile smiled at the sky as he sat himself down on the one of the few logs which they hadn't gotten around to chopping up. It was cold outside, but bright with not even the slenderest cloud overhead. A perfect day for painting.

_All right! I'll paint this for Miss O'Hara's wall so she'll see it every day. And one day, she'll look at it and remember that her place is with us._

That was the plan. Perhaps he had told his brother that his painting was simply to cheer her up, but in his own mind he believed he could paint something that would bring their Catherine back to them. It was a childish hope perhaps but he didn't care. He would fight for it with his every brushstroke.

He had always wanted to create pictures which touched hearts. Well, this one was tasked with touching a very special heart indeed.

He set out his materials beside him. Ideally he would have used his large pad and his easel for a project this important. Of course, he had left them tucked safely under his bed back at Sleepy Lakes. As a result, he would have to make so with his small sketchpad and his tin-box of travelling paints. But that was okay, it wasn't as though this picture required much detail beyond the three main figures. And it wasn't as if Catherine had the wall-space for a much bigger picture anyway.

Settling himself down with his pad on his lap, he took out the photo which was to be his subject. He stared at the monochrome image for several moments, both to engrave the picture into his mind and to recall the day it had been taken – the feeling of the gentle weight of Catherine's hand on his shoulder, the happy smiles that all three of them had worn, how afterwards they had all shared a joke, laughed and how she had then squeezed each of them with a lovingly warm hug 'because they were so dear to her'. Emile remembered that moment well. The moment, when they stood wrapped close in each other's arms, marked the very instant he decided that he wanted Catherine O'Hara to be his mother.

The memory dizzied him, moistened his eyes. He had already lost one mother in his life. He would be damned if he was to lose another.

He steadied his emotions, took a deep breath and blinked his eyes dry. Now he had a grip on both the image itself and the memories of the feelings that underlay it, he took out his good pencil and started to draw.

He started with Oscar. He was the easiest to draw for Emile, seeing as though they had been together ever since the womb. It meant he could warm up before tackling Catherine, whose image had to turn out perfectly.

His pencil moved with confidence as he drew in the outlines of Oscar's head. Without even realising it, a smile crept onto his face. He loved this, the very process of creating a picture from a blank sheet of paper. In truth, the act of creation itself gave him more pleasure than that the finished results did.

That wasn't to say he wasn't a good artist. His steady hand (useful for painting and sniping alike) had always been a talent he had been proud of and served him well in translating the ideas in his head into fine paintings on paper. He had even managed to sell a few of his pictures during the war – for _actual_ money. Of course, he was not so naive as to think that they had sold for their quality alone. He knew that their primary selling point had been the fact that they had been painted by '_a young soldier-boy fighting on the front lines for his country!'_ which had given the paintings an aura of mystery and romance that he could not, at least yet, produce purely with a paintbrush.

That said he felt himself improve with every picture he produced. And even though his materials here were not the best, he was determined that this one be his _magnum opus_. It would have to be to keep his dream of a little family alive.

As he drew the outlines of his brother's rifle, he suddenly detected movement in the top of his vision. Looking up, he saw someone approaching; he had been so engrossed in his drawing that he hadn't noticed him until now. It was a colossal man wrapped in a heavy brown coat. He was coming towards him quickly with an element of threat in his stride.

Emile laid his pad aside and apprehensively climbed to his feet. Catherine hadn't mentioned expecting any visitors and this man certainly didn't look friendly. He realised with a jolt that he had left the rifle inside, propped against the wall by the cupboard. He almost darted inside to fetch it but decided against it – no need to reach straight for a weapon just because a stranger had come to call.

He stood up straight and gave the man a polite nod. "Can I help you Sir?" he asked when he was close enough.

The man's grim expression didn't flinch as he pulled open his coat with one meaty hand. To Emile's horror, a hefty shotgun had been strapped to the inside lining.

Before he could react, the stranger ripped it out and suddenly the double-barrel was staring at him like the ominous eyes of a hellhound. He gaped, mouth deathly dry, and slowly, hopelessly, lifted his hands up in submission.

For the first time the man's face moved. The severe line of his mouth parted, showing growling teeth. He tossed his gun-arm back, then brought the shotgun down like a club, smashing all sense out of Emile's skull. The agony lasted a mere split-second before everything fell away to darkness.


	7. Six

"_Oh my!" exclaimed Catherine, clasping her hands together. "How exciting! So who's the lucky girl then?"_

"_Hey, keep it down Miss O'Hara!" Emile hissed, his cheeks flushing. "I don't want anyone to find out!"_

"_Sorry," said Catherine, lowering her voice. "But who is it?"_

_Emile made a vague gesture at the shooting range, where the scouts were stationed for morning target practice. "There. Third from the left."_

_Catherine looked over. Her face became quizzical. "Oh my," she breathed. "Emile, I had no idea. You mean to say this crush of yours is…Melville?"_

"_No!" Emile exclaimed in a fluster. "Third from the LEFT!"_

"_Oh, beg your pardon," Catherine looked again. "Then it's Nancy?"_

"_Yeah," Emile sighed. "Nancy." _

_Together they looked over at the young farm-girl with the twin pigtails. She was adjusting her glasses after the recoil from her last shot had knocked them off her nose. _

"_She's just terrific," Emile continued. "There's something wonderful about her, something that the other girls here don't have. I don't know what it is but it's there." _

"_She's a kind girl with a very gentle heart," Catherine said. "I think she's just right for you Emile. She'd look after you." _

"_I'd certainly look after her," Emile said. "I'd never let anything harm her if she was my girl."_

"_I know you would," Catherine said, patting him fondly on the shoulder. "So have you asked her to go steady yet?"_

"_No," said Emile. "That's why I'm telling you about this." He bowed his head and exhaled longingly. "What do I do Miss O'Hara? I have no idea. I like her so much but I don't know how I should even approach her."_

_Catherine mused on this. "You know I'm not married Emile. This isn't really my field of expertise."_

"_Please Miss O'Hara. I really need help on this. You're a woman after all."_

"_Really? You noticed?" she tittered._

"_I have no idea how women think," Emile continued. "But you do. Come on Miss O'Hara!" He turned to her desperately. "What's the secret? How can I get her to like me the same way that I like her?"_

"_I don't think there's a secret to it, Emile dear," Catherine said, stroking the rifle in her arms as though it was a pet cat. "Love's not that straightforward."_

"_So I figured," Emile said despondently. _

"_But you're right. I _do_ know how we women think. So I can give you a few hints."_

"_Oh yeah?" He sat up eagerly, "Go on then."_

_Catherine held up three fingers and numbered them off. "Manners, common interests and a good ear for listening. Get those three down pat and you'll be in with a chance with any girl."_

"_I see. Manners, interests, listening." Emile said each one slowly in turn as if they were alien concepts to him. _

"_Now you have the manners already," Catherine said. "I can vouch for that. As for interests, both of you enjoy the outdoors so you should always have plenty to talk about there. And listening is simply a matter of discipline. Take in what she says then ask her follow-up questions. If she really is the girl for you, it won't be difficult." _

_"I see," Emile said. "Thanks Miss O'Hara. That really helps." He gave her a grateful smile. _

_"You're welcome Emile dear," she said. She checked her wristwatch. "The scouts should be done on the range in a few minutes. Why don't you go over and have a chat to her?"_

_"You think I should?" Emile asked nervously. _

_"Of course! You're not going to get very far with her by watching her from a distance are you?"_

_"Yeah…but…"_

_"It's just a little chat. Nothing more. You can manage that can't you?" She brought up that wry grin of hers, the one she only ever wore for the two brothers. "Besides she's far less scary than the Imp soldiers you fight every day, isn't she?"_

_"You're right. Okay!" Emile hauled himself up, clenching his fists in determination. "Here I go!" He began marching towards the shooting range. _

_Catherine stopped him mid-stride. "Oh Emile? One more thing."_

"_Yeah?"_

_With a small chiding smile, Catherine held her hand out. "One more piece of advice. It is _never_ acceptable to chew in front of a lady. Gum please."_

_With a sheepish smile, Emile hooked the gum out of his mouth, balled it up in the wrapper and placed it in her palm. He started to head over again, then stopped himself and turned back one more time. _

"_Miss O'Hara? Please. You won't tell anyone about this will you? I don't want anyone else knowing about this right now."_

_Catherine smiled wryly. "Not even your own brother?"_

"_Especially not him. He'd never let me hear the end of it."_

_# # # # # # # #_

**Six**

Emile was no stranger to physical pain. Both his constant illness and the war wounds he had suffered had seen to that. In spite of that the splintering agony in his head right now though was among the worst he had felt in his entire life.

What had happened to him? He wove his most recent memories around the knot of pain in his head. They had come to the mountains…yes, to see Miss O'Hara…and something had happened…she'd wanted them to leave her…then he had been painting…and…that man?!

That was enough to bring him back to his senses. He had been attacked – that man had clubbed him over the head with a shotgun. So where was he now? Suddenly alert, he forced his eyes open.

He found himself back inside Catherine's cabin. The curtains had been drawn, making the room dim, and the foul stench of cigarette smoke hung in the air. He was sat in the only chair, his arms bent around behind him. When he tried moving them, he found them to be bound.

As his vision returned to focus, he saw the back of the gigantic man who had attacked him. He was peering through the crack between the curtains, seemingly on a lookout. He had a cigarette clenched between finger and thumb but, judging by the short fidgety puffs he was taking, he didn't seem to be enjoying it very much.

As Emile studied him he suddenly turned around. He quickly lolled his head back onto his chest to feign unconsciousness.

"I know you've awake, boy," the stranger said. "Tell me your name."

Emile brought his head up again, fixing his captor with a petulant stare. "What's it to you?" he muttered.

A second later he found himself once again staring down the barrel of the shotgun. "Your name. Now!" he demanded in a tone that suggested he wouldn't ask a third time.

In the attempt to retain some dignity, Emile replied at his own pace. "My name is Emile. Emile Bielert."

The gun stayed in his face. "You were in Squad 7?" the man asked.

His bravado answered before his mind had a chance to. "Sure I was. Why? You a fan?"

With a snarl, the man jolted his arm forward so that the barrel of the shotgun butted against Emile's teeth. "Keep up that tone and I'll blast your insolence right out of your head."

Emile went silent – not that he had much choice with a gun in his gullet. The taste of metal in his dry mouth sent fear shooting through his veins. He saw the man's finger dance on the trigger. He cringed involuntarily and braced himself for the shot.

To his relief it didn't come. The man took the gun out again and put it down by his side. He took another puff of his cigarette, then stubbed it out in one of Catherine's saucers on the table. Judging by the number of butts it already contained, this man had been smoking ever since he had arrived.

He went over to the window and peered out again, lighting up another smoke as he did so. Emile wondered what issue this man had with Squad 7. He had a feeling he knew what it was. The man's imperial accent was weak but present nonetheless.

"Marlberry Shore," he said eventually. "You remember it don't you? That cursed day where the laws of logic and justice didn't apply. That impossible battle where the greatest squad in the Empire fell to the cowardly tactics of militia vermin."

"Marlberry Shore?" Emile murmured. He recalled the mission, though he hadn't been a part of it himself. All he remembered was that it had been a decisive victory. He didn't know much more than that. People hadn't been eager to talk about it afterwards – the death of Isara Gunther had made it something of a taboo subject in the squad.

"Yes, Marlberry Shore," the man was saying. "There, on the bloody sands of a foreign battlefield, my loyal comrades had their glorious last stand. But even their boundless strength and honour couldn't stand against the sheer power of the Fates. When the Fates are against you, even the mightiest warriors can fall, as was proven that day. How else could the Empire's finest lose to lowly militia scum?

"So many heroes died that day but one of them survived." He fixed Emile with a burning stare. "You should have known that Captain Helmut Nonnenkof wouldn't die so easily.

"I survived. And though I could not return to my beloved Empire, I escaped the filthy clutches of the Gallian forces. And yet I was trapped in the land of my enemy, with nothing more than the memories of my squad's unjust defeat to sustain me. The worst fate imaginable for a hero like me.

"Squad 7 ruined me. You murdered my men and made me a prisoner in your wretched country. For that I will take my revenge." He thrust his gun in Emile's direction again to mark his point. "You should have known this day would eventually come ever since the day we first crossed swords."

Emile frowned to himself. So it was as simple as that. A stray Imp after vengeance for his humiliating defeat. A fool who hadn't accepted that the war had ended and any more fighting was meaningless.

He knew he should remain silent, especially with the gun pointed in his direction. But the man's arrogant words stirred something in him. He couldn't let them go unanswered. Even though he was at this Imp's mercy, he spoke with a confidence drawn from his pride at having served with Gallia's finest squad.

"You Imps really are all the same, aren't you?" he started. "All bluster, too full of yourselves to see the way things really are. But when it comes to down to it, you're just bungling thugs without a shred of courage or decency. I mean look at you! Clubbing a lone unarmed kid around the head! What kind of soldier does that, let alone a hero?

"But I'm not worried," he continued, shaking his head. "Imps like you go down easy. Your own squad are proof of that. You say they were the greatest in the Empire? Ha! Their _glorious final stand_ of yours was just another skirmish for us in Squad 7! Blame the fates if you like but the fact was your lowly squad never stood a chance when confronted with _real_ heroes!"

Suddenly there was a snap, a pain in his jaw and then he was staring at the ceiling. The blow had come so quickly that the shock of it was almost as painful as the smashing of those knuckles on his cheek.

"You disrespectful whelp! How dare you!" Helmut paused, choking on his fury. "How _dare_ scum like you talk that way about my squad! My boys were the greatest soldiers of the age! Compared to them, your pitiful band were nothing more than a bunch of worms wriggling in the dirt!"

Though he could feel his cheek bruising (more damage to his already clobbered head) Emile tried to look defiant as he brought his face back around to glare at his captor. He knew that talking this way was an invitation to more pain, and yet he continued on. With his hands tied, words were the only weapons he had. Perhaps by chipping away at this man's composure, he could force a mistake out of him. Anger made people careless after all.

"The War is over now. You lost. Lost badly. You should just be glad that you came up against Squad 7 and survived. Not many Imps can say that you know. You shouldn't be so quick to throw away the life you've been so lucky to hang on to."

The man's fist was drawn back even before he had finished his sentence but the blow never came. He lowered his arm, an unexpected calm seeming to come over him. As though he had broken his anger limits and come full circle to calm again.

"The words of militia scum like you don't mean a thing," he murmured. "But you will suffer before you die for your impudence, count on it.

"But you're not dying just yet. No. There's something you're going to tell me first."

His voice was perilously low. A vein was twitching in his forehead like a bomb's fuse.

He turned to move back over the table. Emile watched as he picked something up off it and regarded it in his hands. With his back turned Emile couldn't see what it was.

Suddenly he lunged in close, thrusting the photo at him like a weapon. It was the image he'd been painting – the one of himself, Oscar and Catherine on the shooting range.

"_Who was it!?_" Helmut yelled, his pent-up anger erupting all at once. "Which one of you _killed my Klaus!?_"

Emile drew back, his face sprayed with spittle. Fear was rising in him now, though he tried not to let him show. "Klaus? Who was that?"

"Don't pretend you don't know!" Helmut screamed, a hand shooting out to grip Emile by the neck. "Klaus was the best boy in my squad! So young and beautiful, with a noble sprit that burned as bright as his golden hair in the sunlight. He shone with the radiance of a true Imperial hero! So don't tell me you don't know who he was!

"He was murdered at Marlberry Shore, cowardly sniped off from afar. And now you're going to tell me who pulled the trigger that ended his life!" His rough fingers dug further into his neck, as though to wring an answer from him. "I know it was one of the three snipers in this picture!_ Answer me!_"

"I don't know!" Emile croaked through his crushed windpipe. "I really don't! I wasn't even there!"

In his own mind he frantically tried to work out who would have been the sniper at Marlberry Shore. It hadn't been himself, that was certain. The Fouzen missions had taken a heavy toll on his weak body so he had been confined to the infirmary. If his memory served him correctly, it had been Oscar, Catherine and Marina who had travelled north. But who would have participated in the battle? Welkin liked to rotate the snipers in his squad so it could have been any one of those three.

But did it really matter? There was no good answer to give, truthful or otherwise. He wasn't about to betray his friends and this man probably wouldn't believe his answer anyway.

The grip on his neck tightened until he was seeing spots flash before his eyes. His lungs were empty and burning. Emile wondered if this man was planning to choke him one-handed. Then, to his utmost relief, the grip relaxed and the hand was taken away. He gulped in air with the desperation of a starving man at the dinner table.

"Fine," Helmut murmured, turning away from him. "If you won't tell me then I'll just have to kill all three of you then."

"No!" Emile wheezed, lacking the breath to form the word. Helmut ignored him, once again checking the window for any sign of his next prey.

For all his earlier bravado, Emile was feeling desperate. This man meant business. The sheer fact that he'd survived a run-in with Squad 7 proved that he was a tough one. And he was huge, with a bulky frame that seemed more suited to a lancer than a trooper. He could probably have held his own in an arm-wrestle with Jann. And he was certainly capable of taking out two snipers who were wandering unawares into his trap.

How much time had they been gone now? He wasn't sure how long he had been unconscious but imagined they couldn't be much longer; after all they had intended to be back for lunch-time. They could be back any second now for all he knew.

A dreadful image crept into Emile's mind, that of Oscar opening the door to the cabin to be shot straight in the belly. He would fall, bleed, his guts would spill. Catherine would be too shocked too react. The next shot would send her down like a severed marionette. And just like that the two most cherished people in his life would be reduced to lifeless bodies on the floor, limps jerked at impossible angles, their scarlet blood seeping closer and closer to him…

He shuddered. The image was too horrific for him to accept and it spurred him into action. No time to mull over his options. He had to go with the first plan that came into his head. No matter the cost.

Emile had become accustomed to the fear of death. After all, the Reaper had been always been watching him from afar, waiting for his cursed body to pack in. Well the joke was on him, for after everything it wouldn't be his sickness that killed him. It wouldn't be as good a death as falling in battle would have been. But if his sacrifice could save his brother and Miss O'Hara then it would be good enough for him.

_This way I can finally be of some use to Osc. _

He closed his eyes, allowed himself one final thought of his brother (_always there, in every good and bad memory). _Then, summoning all his courage, he spoke.

"Hey. Mister Nonnenkof."

The huge trooper glanced at him suspiciously. "What?"

Emile bowed his head in submission. "I was the sniper that day," he lied.

"What did you say?" Helmut growled dangerously.

"That's right. It was me. I'm the one who shot your buddy," he continued, speaking with regret in his voice. "That Klaus stood out a mile. Even from a distance I could tell that he was the biggest threat in the camp. So I singled him out to shoot. And I took him down."

He brought his head up to meet his captor's eyes, hoping that nothing in his face would reveal the lie. "You'll never get even with Squad 7. But you can avenge Klaus by killing me. Go ahead and shoot me if you have to. But please, spare my brother and Miss O'Hara. They weren't the ones fighting that day. They've done nothing to wrong you. Your grudge is with me alone."

He saw Helmut's hands whiten as they tightened on his shotgun. He stood up and slowly came over. He pressed the gun against Emile's forehead, his index finger dangling over the trigger. Suddenly gripped by the terror of imminent death, Emile squeezed his eyes shut, steeling himself for the fatal shot which would end his life.

For several seconds nothing happened. The anticipation became unbearable. But then the Imp spoke.

"You're lying," he said.

He hadn't expected that. "What do you mean?" Emile asked through dry, torn lips.

"You're a lying cur," Helmut said. "A kid like you could have never made that shot."

"No it _was_ me," Emile insisted. "That was the best shot of my life. Marlberry Shore was my finest hour as a soldier."

Helmut ignored him. "It was the woman wasn't it?"

"No!" said Emile. "Miss O'Hara wasn't even there that day." He tried to think of detail for his lie, then decided that he and Catherine should just switch places. "She was in the infirmary. She picked up wounds during the liberation of Fouzen!"

"Be quiet!" Helmut barked. "You think I can't see through your lies? I should kill you now for even suggesting that a rat like you could ever kill Klaus."

Emile hung his head silently. While he felt a shameful relief that he wouldn't die just now, his plan to save the others had failed. Now he needed a new one, and fast. His brain whirred frantically. If he didn't act soon, the two souls dearest to him would be wandering straight to their deaths.

He scanned the room desperately looking for inspiration. His rifle was still resting on the side. It was in a slightly different position to before; Emile guessed Helmut had unloaded it as a precaution. On his right side was the bedside table, on which the Imp had placed a box of shotgun shells, his pack of cigarettes and the saucer which served as a makeshift ashtray. Nothing there looked useful.

Then he saw the side window on the wall to his left. It was only the third window in the cabin, with the first two being at the front of the cabin to either side of the door. It was slight smaller than the other two and the curtain had not been drawn over this one. Presumably Helmut had left them open to give him some light to work with.

He suddenly remembered something which Oscar had told him earlier – about how his chat with Catherine the previous night had nearly started with her putting a bullet in him. She had chalked it down to 'soldier's instincts'. He supposed this man here would have his own share of soldier's instincts. Perhaps he could use that to his advantage. A plan of sorts was forming in his head.

He had already lied a fair few times today. Might as well carry on while he was on a roll.

He cocked his head to the left and stared intensely at the window. There was nothing out there but he stared anyway. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Helmut turn to watch him. He kept gazing at the window for another second before quickly bringing his head forward again, as though he had been caught looking at something. Then, when Helmut looked away again, he returned his eyes to the window.

Once again when Helmut turned to look at him he straightened his head, giving his captor enough time to see him do so. He kept his face blank and guiltless. His captor looked from him, to the window, then back to him again.

"What are you looking at?" he asked gruffly.

"Nothing," Emile replied innocently.

Helmut squinted suspiciously at him. He rose to his feet and cautiously approached the window, his shotgun leading the way. When he reached it he gingerly gripped the handle and swung it open. He instantly ducked, as though anticipating a shot. When none came, he rose and poked the gun out the window, in one direction then the other. Finally, satisfied that no-one was there, he closed the window again and moved back into the room.

The moment he stepped away from the window Emile began to yell.

_"Now! Shoot him Miss O'Hara! Shoot him, shoot him, shoot him!"_

The Imp was moving even on his first word. Quick as lightning he spun away from where he stood, turning his body around completely. As he flung himself to the side he raised his gun to the window and fired without aiming. The shot punctured the window, shattering it and echoing painfully in the confined cabin.

The reflex would have saved his life had there been any threat in the first place.

Breathing heavily, Helmut snatched up a couple more shells from the box on the bedside table and quickly reloaded. He once more went to investigate, prodding the smashed frame of the window with his gun, which fell out and clunked on the ground outside. It was only then that he seemed to realise he had been tricked. Pausing only to draw the curtain (leaving the room in near darkness), he then strode back to Emile, holding the shotgun by the barrel.

"You like playing games?" he asked darkly. "Then let's play one of mine…"

He held the gun up like a bat. Before Emile even had a chance to brace himself, he drew the butt back and smashed it straight into his face.

For several blind seconds there was only agony. He felt his nose break, felt warm blood gushing down his face. All he could do was yell against the unbearable pain but it didn't make it stop. He hung his head, heaving and gasping, pathetic tears streaming from his eyes.

"Don't ever play games with me," Helmut murmured threateningly. "I can make you die _very slowly_ if I want to."

In spite of all the pain, Emile was revelling in the little triumph he had won. Forcing a shot from the Imp was the best warning he could give to Oscar and Catherine. It was all he could do for them now. He only hoped that they had heard it.

He closed his eyes, offering a silent prayer to whatever powers were watching over them. Though he was resigned to losing his own life today, maybe, just maybe, his brother and mentor would keep would keep hold of their own. That would have to be enough, for Osc to be alive to take care of Miss O'Hara, and for her to be there to comfort him as he dug his twin's grave.

_"Osc. Miss O'Hara. Please. I love you both with everything in my heart. Please, I beg you. Don't die today."_


	8. Seven

**A/N – To anyone who's been following this story – really sorry for the delay in updating. Been busy like you wouldn't believe. Next chapter shouldn't take nearly as long to complete. **

_Normally the Feast of All Spirits was a cause for celebration for the people of Gallia. This year was different of course, with the fight for survival taking priority over family gatherings and the exchanging gifts between lovers. For Squad 7 it was just another day of readying themselves to fight. _

_Catherine was spending her Feast servicing her rifle in the common room. It already lay in pieces in front of her on the table. She was massively possessive of her weapon (a trait which all the snipers shared) and, as capable as Leon and the rest of the maintenance team were, she would never have entrusted its care to anyone other than herself. After all by maintaining it herself she came to know her weapon and all of its quirks. That way if it failed on her in the field she would have no-one else to blame but herself. _

_As with many of the Squad, she was feeling a little melancholy today. After all, this was meant to be the happiest day of the year. Unfortunately all they had to look forward to this year was a trip north to the Marberry Shore for what was likely to be a very hard and bloody battle. Not exactly anyone's idea of a good Feast. _

_Suddenly the door to the common room creaked open, startling her. Instinctively she half-reached for the rifle by her side (which was Juno's incidentally – she had kindly leant it to her so that she wouldn't have to be unarmed while she serviced her own weapon) but relaxed when she saw that it was only the two Bielert brothers coming in. The sight of them immediately cheered her up, despite the solemn expressions that both of them were wearing._

_"Hello there boys. Why so serious?"_

_The boys exchanged a glance. Then Oscar took a step forward and placed a small flat black box in front of her on the table._

"_For you, Miss O'Hara."_

_Astounded, Catherine looked from the box to each boy in turn. "What's this?"_

"_It's a present for you," Oscar said. His expression remained grave. _

_"A present? For me?" she asked incredulously. "Good gracious! Whatever for?"_

"_Well, it's the Feast of All Spirits," Emile said. "We heard that this is a time for you to give gifts to those who are special to you."_

"_I know that, but you didn't have to do this for me. Oh you boys! You're so silly!" She shook her head with a helpless smile and pulled the box closer to her. "Can I open it?"_

"_Go ahead Miss O'Hara," said Emile. "It may take a little explaining."_

"_Don't get too excited though. It's nothing much," added Oscar hastily._

_Catherine flipped open the lid of the box. Inside was a shiny necklace with a simple metal cylinder, the length of a finger, attached to it. She gingerly pinched the chain and lifted it out, dangling it before her._

"_My goodness! What an unusual pendant. It's lovely."_

"_It's not just a pendant," Oscar said. "Try opening the lid at the bottom."_

_Catherine complied, touching the end of the cylinder. It flicked open like a cigarette lighter and, to her surprise, a bullet dropped out. It clinked as it landed on the floor. _

"_Oh! What is this?" Catherine asked. _

"_It's an extra bullet," said Emile. _

_"An extra bullet?" Her eyes lit up with genuine amazement. _

_"Yeah," continued Oscar. "So that no matter how many shots you fire on the battlefield, you'll always have at least one more bullet to hand." _

_"That's right," said Emile. "One more shot to save the day!" _

_Catherine couldn't believe it. The boys had taken her central fear – that of running out of ammunition at a crucial moment leaving her unable to save the lives of her comrades – and turned it into the perfect gift for her. The extent of their consideration left her breathless. She had never received such a thoughtful gift before, not even from her late parents, or either of her sweethearts she from her Cliffewick days._

_"Oh my. How in the world did you get something like this?" she breathed in wonder. _

"_We had it made especially," Oscar said. "Dorothy did it for us. She has a talent for making jewellery."_

"_We came up with the concept ourselves though." Emile said. "We figured you'd prefer an extra bullet to just a piece of jewellery._

"_You know me too well," said Catherine. "I'd prefer an extra bullet to all the jewellery in the world." _

_As she stared down at the shiny pendant in the palm of her hand, she found her vision suddenly blurring with tears. She suddenly clutched it to her chest and dipped her head so that her fringe hid her eyes. _

"_Miss O'Hara?" Oscar asked worriedly. _

"_Oh dear," she said, wiping her eyes with a gloved hand. "I'm sorry. I'm just being silly." She looked up at them, smiling despite the tears seeping out of her eyes. "Thank you so much you two. This is the most wonderful present I have ever received."_

_The boys exchanged a sceptical glance with each other. "Really?" they asked in unison. _

"_Yes, really," she replied. "I'm wearing it every day." She lifted it up by the chain and set it about her neck. "Could you fasten it for me Oscar dear?"  
Oscar nodded and moved behind her. It took him several attempts to fasten the fiddly little clasp. It finally caught and the shiny tube dangled off her neck and rested on her chest. She gazed down at it with pride. _

_"It's absolutely wonderful." she said again. "But I do feel a little guilty. I haven't even gotten you anything in return."_

"_Don't say that Miss O'Hara," said Oscar. "You've already done so much for us. You taught us the lessons we needed to become good snipers."_

"_He's right," said Emile. "We'd have been shot dead long ago if it hadn't been for all your training. We owe you our lives." He nodded down at the pendant. "After everything you've done for us that little trinket is the least we could do."_

_Catherine smiled bashfully. Then she opened her arms to them. "Come here you two."_

_She wrapped an arm around each boy's neck and hugged them close to her. Then, to their surprise, she planted a light kiss on each of their cheeks, first Oscar's, then Emile's. Both of them blushed, but put their own arms around Catherine in return. _

_"You boys are so special," she whispered. "And I'm so happy that I'm your teacher."_

_She meant it too. Good pupils were precious to a teacher like her. Yet it was becoming harder and harder to think of them as just pupils, like those she had taught back at Cliffewick. They were more than that to her now. They were her _boys.

_#######_

**Seven**

Even after their shopping trip, Catherine had chosen to remain aloof. She didn't look happy about it, as though her silence was something forced on her rather than her own choice. Yet the trip back up the mountain was as quiet and awkward as the trip down had been.

At least until they heard the gunshot.

When it first came Oscar didn't think anything of it. They had been hearing gunshots intermittently throughout the day – in this backwater location people hunted for their food so it wasn't that unusual. Catherine, on the other hand, stopped in her tracks and turned her head in direction of the sound, frowning.

"Miss O'Hara? What's the matter?" Oscar asked.

"That shot," she murmured. "Something wasn't right about it."

"What do you mean?"

She faced him, showing the worry-lines on her face. "Many people around here hunt deer. But the deer keep to the woodland on the easternside of the mountain, so most of the shots we've been hearing come from that direction. But this shot was different."

Oscar suddenly blanched. "It came from ahead of us. Are you saying...?"

Catherine nodded. "Yes. It sounded as though it came right from my cabin."

A gunshot from the cabin. Oscar's insides froze with dread. What could that mean? Had a hunter come this far out to chase a stray deer?

Or was it Emile who had been of the receiving end of that gunshot…

That was as far as his train of thought went before blind panic took over. Ditching the basket of groceries aside, he pelted up the track as fast as her could force his body to move.

"Oscar!" Catherine's cries came from behind him but he didn't turn back. Nothing would stop him from rushing to his brother's aid. He scrambled up the path, the loose stones underfoot causing him to stumble.

For a while everything was an adrenaline fuelled haze. His body just flew along, heedless of care, solely focused on his destination. Twice he fell, both times he recovered his footing, paying no attention to his scraped knees and bloody palms. And suddenly Miss O'Hara's cabin was there, high above him at the end of the trail.

_Hold on Emile, I'm coming…_

"Oscar Bielert, you will stop right there!"

Unbelievably, he found himself stopping at her command. It was her tone that did it. It was one he had heard only once before, during the ferocious scolding she had given him after his fistfight with Cezary. He had hoped never to hear it again. It had been enough to terrify him back then and even in this desperate situation it had the power to subdue him.

Nevertheless he turned back to her to protest. "Miss O'Hara, we have to…!"

"Now listen!" she shouted, cutting him off instantly. "I don't know if something is wrong, but if there is then we must think before we act. Fools rush in! Why, such behaviour would have killed you in a second back in the War!"

"We don't have time to waste!" Oscar shouted back at her. "Emile may be dying!"

"And if he has been shot, then whoever did it is still close by," she replied. "How do you intend to help him if you get shot as well? Please calm yourself Oscar. Weren't you listening when I taught you patience?"

"But Miss O'Hara…"

She silenced him with firm stare. "I said calm down. We must assess the situation first. Then we can decide what to do."

She slung her rifle off her shoulder and pointed it towards the cabin. For a moment Oscar wondered what she was aiming at, then realised she was using the sight as a makeshift telescope to examine her cabin.

"Nothing seems out of place," she said eventually. "The door hasn't been forced." She lowered the rifle. "I can't see anyone either. Perhaps we just let our imaginations run away with us."

Her words did nothing to reassure Oscar. "You can't see anyone? Not even Emile?" he asked.

"No, but I suppose he's inside sleeping."

Oscar's stomach turned a fearful somersault. "Can I take a look?"

"Of course." She passed the rifle to him. Oscar held it up and peered through the scope.

No, this didn't look right at all. He could see why Miss O'Hara hadn't noticed anything suspicious – the cabin door was closed and the windows were shuttered. As though Emile had gone to sleep, just as they had fooled Miss O'Hara into thinking he was going to when they had left that morning. But Oscar knew different. Emile wouldn't be inside the cabin right now. He was supposed to be painting and there was no way he could do that in darkness.

"Something's wrong," he said, his nerves tightening again like a knot. "Emile should be outside."

"Outside?" Catherine asked. "But he said he felt unwell. He was going to have a snooze."

"No he wasn't!" Oscar exclaimed. There wasn't enough time to explain the ruse to her. "He should be outside painting. We should be able to see him!"

Eyebrows knit, Catherine took the rifle back off him so that she could take another look. "Well there's no sign of him. Hang on…"

She took several steps to the side, so that she was viewing the distant cabin from a diagonal angle. Her face immediately creased into a frown.

"The side window," she said. "The glass has been completely shattered."

Oscar strained his eyes to see. "Was it the shot we heard that did it?"

"I imagine so. But it's strange - the window's too small to climb through so I can't see why anyone would break the glass." She chewed her lip in concern. "First the shot, then Emile's disappearance, now a broken window. Too many things are out of place here. I don't like this. Not one little bit."

"What do you think happened?" Oscar asked.

"I don't know," she said, "But there's no sign of the gunman. The shot was close and there's little cover on the mountainside so we probably would have seen him if he was fleeing. That means we have to proceed under the assumption that he's now in the cabin."

"But who…?"

"I don't know. A burglar perhaps? Someone may have seen us in town and assumed that my cabin was empty. But it doesn't matter who he is." Her face hardened into an expression of icy professionalism. "All we need to know if whether or not he's a threat. And if he is, we must take him out quickly and without mercy."

"Of course we must! So let's _go!"_ Oscar poised himself ready to run, but Catherine held onto his shoulder to stop him once again.

"Please Oscar, we have to be careful. Please, just give me one moment to think."

She dropped onto her haunches, closed her eyes and tapped the side of her rifle's barrel against her head, as though using it as a tiny hammer to pound thoughts into her mind.

Her hesitance to act (or let him act) was agonising. Oscar had to clench both his fists and his feet to stop himself from running up to the cabin. Of course it would be dangerous but they didn't have time to waste! While they hesitated Emile could be slowly bleeding to a horrible lonely death...

But it was as Catherine said – it was dangerous to rush in while they knew so little. They couldn't see inside the cabin with the front shutters closed and the curtain drawn across the shattered side window. For all they knew the cabin could be completely empty. Or the firer of the shot, whoever that was, could be inside lying in wait. Perhaps he knew they were snipers and was trying to draw them in close where they would be at a disadvantage. After all from here they couldn't see him, let alone snipe him. And firing blind into the cabin would be too dangerous with the likelihood that Emile was in there. In this situation their sniper skills had been rendered all but useless.

But they had to do _something._

Catherine continued to remain crouched and still, as though in deep thought. Oscar's strained patience finally expired. "Miss O'Hara!" he implored her in pure desperation.

She raised a hand to silence him. Slowly she stood and opened her eyes again, her face grim. Oscar watched her as she slung her rifle off her shoulder and held it in both hands. Then, to his amazement, she presented it to him.

"You should hold on to this for a little while," she said.

Oscar took it reverently. This was a GSR-30R__, one of the prestigious royal weapons and the most advanced sniper rifle Gallian technology had to offer. Squad 7 had only had one of them during the war, which Catherine had used exclusively. For her to part with it was unheard of. Ever since he had known her she had never been without a rifle to hand.

"It's a good rifle. You should have no trouble using it. With that gun you could pick out someone's eye from the other side of the battlefield."

He looked back at her questioningly. "Miss O'Hara, why are you...?"

"Stay here and keep a lookout," she said. "I'm going in to take a closer look."

The suggestion caused his jaw to drop open in horror. "No Miss O'Hara, you can't go by yourself!" he protested. "It's too dangerous! Let me go instead! I can..."

"Oscar dear."

That cut him off. She had called him 'dear' again. Once more it left him speechless.

She smiled at him. It wasn't her wry smile but the other one she wore for them. The one with the slightest upturn of her lips, accompanied by gentle affection in her eyes. A smile too comforting for him to ever deny.

"My dear Oscar, I have no right to ask you to trust me any more. Not after what I said last night. But believe me when I say that all I want to do is protect Emile's life. Please, I beg you, put your faith in me one last time. If your brother is in trouble, then we can only save him if you follow my instructions. Please Oscar. Can you trust me, just once more?"

Oscar didn't know what she had in mind. What he did know was that this woman before him had done enough in their time together to deserve his unconditional trust. Pinching his lips together, he raised his eyes to meet hers and nodded.

"Good," said Catherine. "I'll be back soon."

***

The reassuring smile she had given to Oscar faded in the face of the overwhelming terror that was swarming through her. She knew she had to keep running or else it would reduce her to a useless quivering heap.

_How did this happen? I isolated myself so I wouldn't have to see those I love suffer. But in spite of that, my worst nightmare is coming true. _

She had been nervous ever since they had arrived; knowing that so long as they were here with her, she was vulnerable to the pain that came with her love for them. For a while she had thought that she was overreacting to think that something terrible could happen to them in the short time that they were staying with her. Who could have guessed that a situation like this would come along and justify her fears?

Those fears were not just for Emile, but for Oscar too. You couldn't worry about either boy in isolation. Their lives were too interlinked for that. If Emile died, Oscar's soul would be crushed beyond repair, leaving him as a pathetic shell of a boy, no longer capable of living life well. Put simply, the boys lives were one – they would live and they would die together, be that death literal or the loss of a life with meaning.

And those lives could be lost right here, in front of her eyes. That prospect terrified her more than any Imperial foe ever could.

_Why did they have to come here? Why couldn't they have lived their lives safe and well without me? _

Whatever the case, all that mattered now was protecting Emile. She couldn't let him die when he had so much of his life left to live. Or let Oscar feel the pain of losing someone so precious to him – that very pain that she was so familiar with.

And what was more, she herself couldn't stand to lose another person dear to her. So many of them had already slipped through her fingers. She wouldn't let Emile join the list of late loved ones who were now no more than memories to her.

_Hang on Emile. I promise I will save you. No matter what it costs me._

***

The tension had become too great to bear. The fact that he was helplessly bound to a chair with his nose hanging painfully off his face did nothing to help matters.

His captor was feeling it too, he noticed. He seemed to get through the cigarettes quicker and quicker as his impatience grew, so much so that Emile began to harbour hope that he would burn his lungs out before Catherine and Oscar returned. As restless as he was, he kept a firm grip on his shotgun with the hand that wasn't holding his smoke. His index finger kept straying to the trigger, as though anticipating the prospect of blood.

He had been pacing back and forth for a while now, checking the gap in the shutters every time he was at that end of the cabin. Suddenly he stopped right in front of him. Emile braced himself for another hit.

"Where are they? Why aren't they coming?" he demanded.

Emile remained silent, head defiantly bowed. Inwardly he wondered if the gunshot had driven them away, as planned.

"I warn you," Helmut growled. "If they don't come soon you'll be the one to suffer in their place. I swear, I'll kill you three times over."

Emile flinched but held his courage firm. This man could kill him and it would hurt. But he could bear the pain before death especially if it was for the sake of those he loved the most. If they could survive, he would die any way he had to.

Then, in one dreadful second, all his hopes were turned to ash.

There was a knock at the door. Someone tried the handle. And then, to Emile's utmost horror, Miss O'Hara's unmistakable voice came from the other side.

"Emile? Are you in there?"

All he could do was scream. "No, Miss O'Hara, _don't!_"

Too late – even as the words left his mouth, Helmut had levelled his shotgun with the door and pulled the trigger. Emile's cries were drowned out by the gunshot. The shells punched through the flimsy door with ease, sending splinters of wood flying everywhere. Emile could only watch, helpless to do anything for his mentor but yell out her name in anguish.

"_MISS O'HARA!"_


	9. xxxxxx

"_Oscar!" Montley cried__, sprinting down the wing. "Here! One-two!"_

_Heeding his __request, Oscar passed the ball to Montley and darted straight between Hannes and Nils. Montley hit the ball first time with his instep which sent it neatly into Oscar's path again, completely bamboozling the two defenders. Without breaking his stride Oscar controlled the ball, took another touch, then smashed a powerful shot beyond Largo's despairing grasp. One-nil to the young'uns._

"_YES!" he yelled, wheeling away with his__ fists aloft. Montley, grinning with delight, jumped up on his back and ruffled his hair. And then Emile was there too, having run the full length of the pitch to slap hands with him. Largo however was less amused, striding angrily out of his goal to give Hannes a slap around the head. _

"_Wake up Hannes! Do some defendin' for a change!"_

"_You let the goal in," the trooper grunted in response._

_As__ the celebrating young'uns returned to their own half, Oscar gave a thumbs-up to the two women watching from the sidelines, both of whom were clapping appreciatively. Catherine waved at him he went past. _

"_Wow," said Juno. "He shoots as well with a football as he does with a bullet." _

_Catherine grinned wryly. "__Of course he does. He'd give us snipers a bad name if his marksmanship was anything less than perfect!" _

_They both laughed at that. As the match restarted, Juno spoke again. "You're so proud of them aren't you?" _

"_Hmm?" Catherine asked._

"_Those two," Juno shrugged at each boy with her shoulders. "Him and him. The b__rothers."_

"_Of course I am," Catherine replied. "They're the best students anyone could ever ask for."_

"_But it's more than that isn't it?" said Juno__. "Sometimes when I see you with them it seems like…well…"_

"_Yes?" Catherine __prompted her. _

_The blonde scout__ coughed self-consciously. "It's like you're their mother."_

_"Really?__" said Catherine. "Well. Maybe it does look like that." Her words were cautious, giving away nothing. "I think all boys need a little mothering, don't you?"_

_Juno __pressed the subject. "I'm curious, Cathy. Why _did_ you take them under your wing? Was it just because it was your job to train them as snipers?"_

_C__atherine fiddled with her rifle, not answering right away. "If we're sharing secrets, perhaps you should tell me what it is you see in our dear commander first?"_

"_Hey! Shush!" yelped Juno, clasping a hand over Catherine's mouth and checking around to make sure no-one had overhead her. "That's not funny Cath," she hissed quietly._

"_I'm sorry. I'm only teasing," said Catherine with a smile. "Well, I suppose it started off that way."_

"_Oh?" _

"_With the boys," Catherine said. "As you said, it started out because it was my job to train them as snipers. But as I spent more and more time with them I began to see the potential in the both of them." _

"_Their potential to be good snipers?" said Juno._

_Catherine shook her head. "Not just that. Their potential as __human beings."_

_Juno regarded her curiously __"How do you mean?"_

_Catherine sighed and stretched out. __"Those boys have had a hard time. They've never had parents, only ever each other. They grew up in the grim aftermath of humanity's darkest war. One of them suffers from a crippling lack of confidence in himself. The other fights a constant battle against his own frail body.____And if that wasn't enough here they are on the front line, fighting in this awful war when they're still only children. That's a lot to handle for two boys who have only ever had each other to rely upon._

"_Hardship__ and loss can make people selfish and bitter. But it didn't with those two. They still managed to grow up abiding by values of decency. You can see it in so many ways. Like how they're such eager learners and will always take in anything I have to say. Or the way they're so polite to everyone and have time for other people even though they've been alone their whole lives. But most of all you can see it in the boundless brotherly love they have for each other. Either one of them would lay down their life in an instant to protect the other. It's such a beautiful bond that they share._

"_It's hard not to love two boys like that," she __continued. "But more than that, I wanted to show them that the virtuous path they had chosen had indeed been the correct one to take, both for themselves and for the people around them. To give them faith that such a path would turn them into fine young men. I suppose I took it upon myself to teach them that, as well as how to shoot."_

"_So that's why you keep them close," said Juno, an element of wonder in her voice. Catherine nodded__ slowly. _

_Suddenly there was a yell from a field. Montley had gone tumbling to the ground from a vicious two-footed lunge from Hannes. Alicia (who had somehow been roped into playing the referee) ran over to award the young'uns a free kick and give the gruff storm-trooper a stern talking to. _

_The __sudden commotion silenced their conversation for a few moments. Catherine's lips parted hesitantly, as though deciding whether or not to go on. Eventually she said, "But it's not just because I feel they need me."_

"_Oh no?" Juno asked._

"_No," said Catherine shaking her head. __She cast a sudden glance down at the silver pendant resting on her chest. _

"_Those boys…they're good for me too__."_

"_Yes they are," said Juno. "I've noticed it. You've seemed so much happier ever since they joined__ up with the squad."_

_Catherine closed her hand__ around the pendant and closed her eyes. "It's because they let me play the same role I had at Cliffewick."_

"_I see," Juno said, a sudden warm smile settling on her face. "__You love teaching people and they let you teach them."_

_Catherine nodded. "That's right. And t__hey're such wonderful students. They bring out the very best teacher in me. It's a two-way flow. By giving them confidence, it gives me confidence in myself as well." The edges of her mouth turned up and softened suddenly. "And they're so much fun to be with, whether we're training, doing chores or just relaxing over a cup of tea. I really enjoy having them in my life."_

"_That's nice," said Juno__, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. "I have to admit that I'm a little jealous. Must be nice having those two look up to you like that."_

"_Come now, Juno dear," Catherine said. "Don't pretend you haven't seen the admiration in Aisha's eyes whenever she looks at you."_

_Juno chuckled. "You snipers are too observant__ for your own good."_

_Just then a frustrated howl came from the field, causing both of them to jump. __Musaad had just unleashed a stinging shot on goal, only to have it sensationally beaten away by Emile, the goalkeeper. Elysse, seeming switched on for once, had been on hand to hoof the ball clear before anyone could tap in the rebound. As Emile climbed back to his feet they saw him exchange a pointed finger with his brother at the other end of the field. It was a simple, silent brotherly gesture which conveyed more than any spoken words could. _

_As Oscar and __Nina once again tussled for the ball in the air, __Juno turned back to Catherine. "So will you keep on mothering them?" she asked. "Even after the war is finished?"_

_Catherine__ expression tightened, becoming solemn and mysterious. She took another look at the pendant in her palm as she replied. _

"_Who knows what any of us will be doing after all this __is finished?" she said simply. "It's too early to plan for the future. We have a war to win first." _

_Juno squinted at her__ accusingly. "You're dodging the question."_

_Catherine __smiled back apologetically. "I know."_

#######

**A/N ****– You know something about the image of Squad 7 having a kick about makes me smile. ^-^**

**Apologies once again for the delay**** – unfortunately most of my time and energy of late has been spent on revising for an accountancy exam (which I have to pass or else I'm out of a job!). Will try to keep things ticking over; the next real chapter is shaping up nicely so hopefully it won't be TOO long before I update again. **

**Thanks for reading this far in! **


	10. Eight

**Eight**

The dreadful silence after the shot seemed to last for an eternity. Yet Emile's ears were still ringing when the second shot came.

This one hadn't come from a shotgun. The sound was cleaner and crisper, the familiar crack of a sniper rifle. The bullet struck the latch of the door, breaking it off. The door then jutted as it was kicked from other side. Then it suddenly flew open and someone came charging in.

It was Catherine, miraculously unscathed. With a gleaming hunting-knife in her hands, held low and ready to stab.

She lunged straight at Helmut, thrusting the knife forward at his gut. He instinctively hopped back, avoiding a fatal injury by the sheerest of inches. She immediately followed up by slashing diagonally upwards, slicing across his chest. The blade cut throw shirt and skin alike – a shallow wound but enough to bring a yell of pain from the Imp trooper.

Catherine brought the knife straight down again, going in for the kill. This time Helmut saw it coming and caught her wrist of her knife arm before she could strike. He brought up his other arm and bashed the butt of his unloaded shotgun into her face. She stumbled backwards and caught hold of the table to keep her balance.

"So the murderess makes her appearance," Helmut murmured as he advanced on her. "Took your time didn't you?"

He hefted the heavy gun and swung it at her. She raised her arm to guard her head, but the blow was still strong enough to knock her to the floor. Helmut raised his boot to stamp on her but she quickly rolled herself clear. Before he could move on her again, she had risen into a crouching position, holding her knife at the ready. Her eyes were fixed on the trooper, narrow and vicious like those of a cat.

"Stand down," she demanded. "This is your first and only warning."

It was a voice Emile had never heard before. His mentor's calm tone had been infected with a sinister resolve that promised death to anyone who would defy her will. It didn't sound like the gentle Miss O'Hara that he knew at all.

The Imp threw his head back and snorted. "My only warning? Ha! What a joke! You think you can beat me?" He shoved a meaty finger at her. "You're nothing but a weak sniper woman! I'm going to tear you apart! You hear me?"

Catherine's eyes narrowed to slits. "So be it," she whispered. "Let's get on with this then."

Emile felt his throat contract. It was obvious that Helmut was right – now that Catherine's element of surprise had expired, the odds were stacked horrendously against her. The Imp had a huge strength and weight advantage on her; she wouldn't stand a chance if it came down to pure hand-to-hand combat. She was armed, but it was only a small blade, more suited for skinning animals than for close combat. She would have to get in close to do any real damage, but the Imp's long reach – made longer by the shotgun doubling as a club – would make that a challenge. Fact was that she was a sniper. She dealt death to her enemies from afar. Not to those close enough to see the murder in their eyes…

It didn't take Emile's finely honed observational skills to see that Catherine was in a fight that she couldn't win. And all he could do was rock back and forth on his chair in desperation.

"Miss O'Hara, _go!_ Please! Just _get out of here!_" he yelled at her.

She didn't react to his pleading words, just kept her icy eyes fixed on the Imp in front of her. She held her knife low and still, daring her opponent to make the first move.

Helmut accepted her invitation and bore down on her, gun held horizontally before him. Catherine lashed out but the attack fell short. The trooper jabbed his left fist into her face, knocking her head to one side. Catherine tried to retaliate but couldn't seem to strike him. Her swipes were too tentative and she constantly brought her knife back to defend her own body, never over-committing herself. It was enough to keep her opponent at a distance, but not to inflict any kind of damage.

For a while the fight remained in a stand-off, with Helmut probing for an opening and Catherine fending him off with her knife every time he approached. But then, in a sudden startling motion, he drew his arm back and hurled the gun at her. The reckless move caught Catherine totally off guard and it struck her upper-body before she could brace herself. The impact stunned her long enough for the Imp to grab a firm hold of her knife-wrist. In one neat motion he turned and threw her cleanly over his shoulder. Her body bashed against the edge of the table on the way down, tilting it over so that her beloved blue teapot slid of the edge and smashed into smithereens on the floor.

"You feel that?" Helmut sneered. "This is _real_ combat! Face to face! Strength against strength! Not something a woman or a sniper would understand."

He spat on Catherine's dazed form, then stepped away from her to retrieve his shotgun. He then headed for the bedside table, on which he had placed the box of shells. Emile saw what he was doing. The fight was over if the Imp could load his weapon. He couldn't let that happen, had to help her any way he could.

Without thinking he threw his weight to one side, tilting the chair right over. As he fell, he caught his temple on the corner of the table. The shot of pain that went though his battered head was hellish but, as he had intended, the table tipped over. The ammo box toppled off it, spilling its contents all over the floor.

"Brat!" Helmut yelled, dropping to his knees to scrabble for a shell. Just as he finally got hold of one, Catherine came flying at him knife-first. Helmut twisted to dodge but couldn't stop the vicious blade from sinking into his shoulder. He howled as it penetrated his flesh. Catherine shoved her weight behind it, thrusting it as deep as she could. She had the face of a madwoman now, eyes boiling, her snarling mouth showing clenched teeth.

"I don't care who you are or what you're doing here," she growled. "But I won't forgive anyone who would hurt my Emile."

Helmut didn't react to her words but seemed to overcome the shock and once more flailed at her with the shotgun. He caught her on the side with enough strength to swat her off him. The knife remained buried in his shoulder, sticking out of him like an extra limb.

"You bitch." he murmured. "Don't talk to me about revenge. You're the one who with a debt to pay. You will pay for Klaus's life with your own."

With renewed strength he advanced on her, holding his gun high above his head as though it was a flaming sword of legend with which to smite his foes. Catherine, now unarmed, held up her arms in a defensive stance. When he was close enough she swung a fist at him, aiming for the handle of the knife. It was a clumsy effort which he sidestepped easily and threw her off balance. The gun came smashing down on her neck, sending her down to the floor with a shriek.

"Miss O'Hara!" Emile cried. In his current position, lying on his side and tied to a chair, he was helpless to do anything but flop around like a fish on a river-bank. He cursed his frail body for lacking the strength to break his bonds.

He watched as Helmut strode over to Catherine and kicked her sharply in the ribs, so that she collapsed to the floor again. He then tossed his gun to his left hand (the fact that he still had a knife wedged into the top of that arm didn't seem to bother him) and reached down for her with his right. He closed his iron grip around her neck and lifted her up one-handed as though she weighed nothing. Though she frantically pulled against his hand with both of her own, she couldn't break free and was powerless to resist as he slammed her up against the wall. The impact caused cups and plates to topple off the shelves and shatter around them on the floor.

"Beg!" Helmut screamed at her, driving his fingers further into her neck. "Go on, beg for forgiveness!"

Catherine couldn't even breathe, let alone beg. She struggled in his grip, desperately trying to pry his strong fingers off her neck. It was a vain effort. Her own slender hands were no match for even one of his.

All of a sudden her struggling ceased. For a moment it seemed as though she had given up the fight. Then her hand shot out to grab the knife-handle sticking out of Helmut's shoulder. With the little strength she had left, she turned it ninety degrees.

It was as though the handle had been a release switch. Helmut screamed out at the blade twisted in the wound, causing scarlet blood to seep out of it. He dropped her and reeled away, manically clutching at his left shoulder. Catherine hit the floor painfully and stayed down for a moment, massaging her neck and gulping in air.

For the next few seconds the pair stayed apart and nursed their respective wounds. Catherine recovered before Helmut, and no sooner had she returned to her feet than she was dashing at him. She caught him on the back on his head with her elbow, then set on him, smashing her fist into his face over and over.

"Why should I beg for forgiveness?" she demanded even as she pounded him. "I only ever fought to protect my country and my loved ones. If this Klaus of yours threatened them then he _deserved_ to die! And that's the truth!"

She stopped hitting him for only a second and once more reached for the knife in his shoulder. Before she could grab it, Helmut's arm struck out and beat her off. She immediately threw herself back at him but was met with his fist, which drove straight into her gut like a speeding truck.

"Don't you _ever_ insult Klaus that way!" Helmut screamed. "He was worth a million of you!"

Catherine fell back gasping, the blow having winded her. She couldn't react as Helmut grasped her shoulder, drew his fist back and slammed it viciously into her face. And again. And again. Each punch that landed left a blotch on her pale white cheeks.

"Pathetic sniper woman," he grunted. "You killed Klaus and for that you will _suffer_." He struck her hard once again, this time straight in her eye socket.

Now Emile did close his eyes. The sight of his mentor's beautiful face being reduced to a bloody pulp by this thug's powerful fists was too much for him to bear. He screwed them shut, squeezing out warm tears of fear and frustration as the hopelessness of the situation overwhelmed him.

He opened them again when he heard a crash. Helmut had tossed Catherine across the room into the far wall. Now she lay still, crumpled in a heap on the floor. This time she wasn't getting up.

"What fun," the Imp sneered. "I'm glad I got to rough you up before killing you. But Klaus and the rest of my boys have been waiting long enough for their revenge. It's time for me to give it to them."

He stooped to pick up his shotgun off the floor, along with two of the shells which were scattered around. Across the room Catherine moaned, trying to pick herself up only to collapse back to the floor. Helmut chuckled darkly as he slotted the shells into his weapon.

"No. Please." Emile said in a quivering voice. "Don't do it. She's too wonderful to die."

"But quiet you whelp!" the Imp barked without looking at him. "You'll only be a minute behind her. You can both go to hell together."

He swung the bullet chamber closed, cocked the gun and thrust it towards Catherine, who was groggily lifting herself off the floor. Her bloody lower lip dropped in fear when she saw the weapon pointed at her. She rose slowly, as though her oppressor was a coiled snake who would strike if she made any sudden movements, and held up her trembling hands in hopeless surrender.

Then suddenly something changed in her. Her pupils refocused. Her face tightened with new resolve.

She grabbed a handful of the curtains behind her and hurled herself to the floor, tugging down on them with all her weight. They tore free of the rungs, exposing the small window behind, which had been shattered by Helmut's shot earlier.

On the hillside just beyond it, something glinted.

***

Oscar lay in wait, concealed in the bush which Catherine herself had been hiding in when they had arrived in yesterday. Though palms were wet with nervous sweat, he kept a firm hold on the slick sniper rifle in his hands. All the mental discipline which he had developed though countless battles and training sessions was focused on keeping his aim steady.

His right eye was wet and sore from lack of blinking. Nevertheless, he kept it pressed up to the scope, ready to spot out the vital shot when the signal came. To wait while his beloved brother and mentor were in danger was a torment. Only Catherine's instructions from a few minutes before kept him in place.

"_You must have patience, just as I taught you. No matter what happens don't come running in. Stay where you are and wait for the signal." _

There it was! The curtain came down, allowing him to see inside of the hut. And there was the stranger who Catherine had given him permission to kill.

Oscar squeezed the trigger.

***

Like a bolt from heaven, the bullet shot through the window and tore straight through the Imp's chest. He staggered back clutching the entrance wound, only the devil's own strength keeping him on his feet. His eyes bulged in shock and dismay. Then he stooped and choked, spraying a thick mist of blood over himself.

Emile gaped at the wounded Imp. It had happened so quickly, he could barely register how the tables had turned. His heart turned a somersault of sudden joy. It must have been Oscar! Trust his brother – his eternal guardian – to turn up on time to save the day. Did this mean the fight was over? Had they won?

All too quickly, his hopes were dashed. With slow stilted movements Helmut raised his gun to aim at Catherine again, who was still sprawled on the floor. It trembled in his hands as his finger slowly hooked around the trigger.

"D….ie," he gurgled.

Emile screamed. "_No!_"

Just as the word left his mouth Catherine dove forward towards the corner of the hut, where the boys' unloaded rifle had been carelessly dumped. The motion caused something to whip up out of her shirt.

It was the pendant they had given to her for the Feast of All Spirits. She caught it with her left hand and flipped the lid open even as she landed.

She slide forward on her shoulder, snatched up the boys' rifle, swung it straight in Helmut's direction.

Took the bullet from the pendant they had given to her.

Loaded it in an instant with the technique they had taught her.

Both fired at the same time.

***

Helmut heard the bed creak in protest as his massive frame collapsed against it. His head bent backwards on his neck, forcing him to stare up at the plain wooden ceiling of the cabin.

He was done, he knew it. Two shots to the chest were too much to live through. His will was still there – he wanted to fight on, to stay alive long enough to kill those two brats as well. But his body was no longer under his command and lay still and useless like a tank without fuel. Only the faint twitching of his fingers and toes gave any indication that there was any life left in him at all.

But perhaps that was all right. His life in Gallia hadn't had any value to him anyway. What mattered was that his end had served a noble purpose.

_Klaus__. You are avenged. _

That thought made dying against such feeble opposition – a militia sniper and a _woman_ at that – bearable.

And then he heard slow, staggering footsteps approaching him. Someone was coming across the room.

_It c__an't be. _

There she was. The woman who he had just shot came into view, standing tall over him. Her left arm was drenched red with blood and hung uselessly by her side. Her battered eyes glared down at him with enough hatred to freeze a desert oasis.

"You fool. Couldn't leave the war behind could you? You had to come here seeking some meaningless revenge. And now look what it's cost you."

She squatted down beside him, her one good arm resting on her knee. He could see the black bruises on her face where his fists had pummelled her just moments before.

"I understand the pain of losing someone precious all too well and I pity you for that," she said with a calmness at odds with her expression. "But I cannot forgive you for the path which that pain has driven you to take. No honourable soldier should ever pass his own suffering on to the innocent. Or seek revenge for revenge's own sake.

She lowered her head to bring her eyes level with his. "So now I must finish you off. Not out of hatred or revenge. But to make sure you will never harm my boys ever again."

"_No,_" Helmut stuttered through the blood clogging his windpipe. The thought that he would die and this sniper woman would live was too much to bear.

The woman shook her head grimly. "The time for forgiveness has long since past. Perhaps you could have expected mercy from an enemy soldier in the aftermath of the battle,"

She reached down and grabbed the handle of the knife.

"But you won't get any from a bitch defending her pups."

With that, she wrenched the blade out of him.

It was agony as he had never known. Though his body was fading he felt the fresh tearing of his skin and the warm blood which gushed from his wound seared him like a flame. In all his days as a solider he had never felt such pain. It took the last shred of his soldier's spirit to stop himself from squealing like a dying piglet.

Mercifully the pain was short-lived, for in the next second the very same knife, still wet with his own blood, was drawn across his throat to end his life. His final thoughts as he died were dismal ones.

Dear Klaus would never be avenged. And he, the great Captain Nonnenkof, had been beaten by Squad 7 for a second and final time.


	11. Nine

**A/N – Many thanks to those ****who wished me well on the exam (it went fine by the way!). Here's chapter nine – just one more chapter plus the epilogue after this. **

"Keep it together. Keep it together,"

_Catherine __strode through the corridors at a relentless pace, repeating the mantra under her breath. Her head was bowed, eyes fixed on the floor in front of her. She was so focused on moving forward that she nearly ran into Yoko and Claudia when she turned a corner. Both of them greeted her as she went past. She nodded hastily in reply but didn't stop to talk. _

"Keep it together. Keep on moving. You can't break down yet, not here in the corridor."

_She strode outside and __straight across the yard, doing her best to avoid anyone else. Right now she wouldn't trust herself in a conversation, or to even make eye contact with someone. Her feelings were on the verge of bubbling over but she couldn't let them out, not just yet. She clenched her fists to help keep them sealed in. As she did so she crumpled the object in her hand. _

_It was the latest copy of _The Writing on the Wall_. Its terrible headline was spelt out in bold black letters. _

RETREATING IMPS LEAVE CLIFFEWICK IN FLAMES

_Underneath it was a grainy __photo of the burning library. In a column to the side was a list of all those who had died in the chaos. She had known every single one of them personally. And Marsha Welslip - her very best friend – had been the first name on the list. _

_There. __She was now behind the_ _last storage shed. Here she was far enough from the main buildings that she wouldn't be found. Certain that she was now alone, she squatted down and threw up the contents of her stomach._

_She continued retching long after __everything had come up. Then the tears started to flow. She pounded her fist into the dirt over and over in pure anguish. _

"_Damn it," she __whimpered, "Just...damn it all." _

_She stayed on fours, __her body heaving with sobs. The tears streamed from her eyes and splattered the ground beneath her fists. And then her trembling arms gave way, too weak from grief to support her. _

_She rolled over__ onto her back, wretchedly kneading her face with her hands. It had been two decades since she had felt this pain yet it was still so familiar. It was just the same as when her parents had died. That same unbearable realisation that the special people and places which made up her life had been taken away from her forever. _

_"Oh Marsha," she whispered into her palms. "You were such a treasure. How can you be dead so suddenly?"_

_And __it wasn't just her. Cliffewick College was no more. Two centuries of unlocking potential and building young futures had come to a terrible abrupt end, like a train on a track that had led straight into a concrete wall. _

_"Cliffewick was my __home. My life. What place is there for me without it?" _

_There was nowhere.__ Nothing left to fight for. Even if she helped Gallia to win this war, there would be no home for her to go back to. No old friends to greet her with open arms upon her safe return. _

"_Why must I always be the one left behind to suffer? Why must this pain be mine to bear alone?"_

_Sobbing silently, she curled herself into a sorrowful ball and stayed that way for a__ very long time._

# # # # # # #

**Nine**

Normally Oscar was the squeamish one – Emile had been in enough hospitals in his time to be comfortable around wounds and the inside of the human body. Nevertheless when Catherine had cut the Imp's throat he had shut his eyes tight, unable to watch. Since he was still tied up however, he hadn't been able to block out the Imp's death moans or the sickening smell of blood that suddenly filled the room. Even though they had both come from a dying enemy, they were still enough to turn his stomach.

When he had dared to open his eyes again he saw Catherine had pulled the duvet off the bed in order to cover up the Imp's body. Now she turned to look at him. The fury which had been dancing on her face throughout the fight had completely drained away, leaving the expression of a worried parent on her battered features.

"Emile…"

She came towards him, stumbling like a drunkard. The shot had left a gaping hole in her shoulder and her left arm dangled lifelessly by her side like a broken branch. She crouched down beside him and touched him lightly on the cheek. Her eyes were wide and wet with concern.

"Emile…oh poppet, your poor face."

Her touch seemed to awaken something in him. "Forget about me Miss O'Hara, what about _you!?_" he cried. "You were shot! Quick, untie me! I'll go fetch a doctor!"

"I'm fine Emile. Don't worry," she said calmly. "I could murder a cup of tea though."

Emile opened his mouth to protest – the wound looked monstrous and she had spoken as though it was no more than a paper cut. But before he could speak the door burst open. Oscar dashed in with his rifle at the ready. He swung it left and right, then towards the body on the floor. When he saw there was no longer any threat, he cast his gaze across to his brother and mentor. His face blanched at the sickening sight of the wound in Catherine's shoulder.

"Miss O'Hara, you've been hurt…"

"Don't worry about me," she said patiently. "He only got the meat of the shoulder. I'll live. It'll take more than an Imp thug to finish me off, let me tell you."

Oscar didn't look convinced but he didn't say anything more. His gaze travelled down to look at Emile's face for the first time. When he saw him, his eyes bulged in horror. Emile wasn't surprised – though hadn't seen the damage himself, the pain from his broken nose and the crusted blood he could feel on his face suggested that he looked pretty horrific right now.

"Em! Damn!" Oscar cried. "Did that bastard do that to you?"

"It's no biggie bro," Emile said. "Trust me, this isn't as bad as that flu I had last winter…"

"That bastard!"

Before anyone could stop him Oscar had whirled around and fired into the Imp's corpse. It jerked as the bullet struck it. He immediately loaded another bullet and took aim again.

"Oscar, stop," Catherine said. She spoke with a teacher's authority. It was enough to stop him taking another shot.

"He's dead now," she continued. "Good snipers don't waste bullets."

Oscar's face fell. He seemed unhappy both at the scolding and the fact that he could do nothing more to hurt the man who had assaulted his brother. Nevertheless he lowered the rifle.

Catherine gave him a tiny smile. "Come here and untie your brother."

He nodded wordlessly and came over to haul Emile upright on his chair. He took his small knife from his belt and sawed through his bonds. Finally free, Emile stood up and shook his stiff limbs out, trying to get to feeling back into them. There was no sensation in his right arm, which he had been leaning on the whole time he'd been on the floor.

"Thanks bro," he said, massaging his sore wrists.

"Em, what happened here?" Oscar demanded. "Who was that guy? How did you manage to get caught by him?" He sounded almost angry at Emile for allowing himself to be caught in such a dangerous situation.

"Hey, he took me by surprise," Emile retorted. "I was sitting outside painting, mind my own business when he…"

"Hold on, Emile dear. They'll be time for that later," said Catherine, standing up and taking charge. "First things first. Let's get our wounds cleaned up." She turned to Oscar. "Could you put the kettle on dear? We'll need some warm water. And in the meantime I suppose we should do something about _him_ as well." She shrugged towards the Imp's covered corpse. "And then we should…"

Suddenly she groaned and doubled over, clutching at the gunshot wound in her shoulder.

"Miss O'Hara!" Oscar cried, catching her as she stumbled. "Hang in there!"

"Don't…worry about me Oscar. It's not too bad," she said, waving her good hand dismissively. "It's just….the adrenaline's wearing off. I'm just beginning to notice that this rather hurts actually."

Oscar eased her into the chair. "Don't worry Miss O'Hara," he said. "We're going to get you help." He was trying to sound calm and in control, but his shaky voice betrayed his concern.

"Don't bother," she mumbled. "It's not worth making a fuss over me." Her face creased up in agony again and she closed her hand on her wound as though she could squeeze the pain out of it. Emile winced as though the pain were his own.

"What do we do Osc?" he asked desperately.

Oscar was forcing himself to study Catherine's wound, though the sight of it up close was enough to drain the colour from his cheeks. "There's some ragnaid in the pack," he said without looking back at him. "Could you fetch me some?"

Emile nodded, grateful to have a task to do. He darted over their backpack, which was lying forgotten in the corner on the room. He stuck his hand in and fished out one of the glowing blue canisters of ragnaid which they had brought with them. He was about to hand it over to Oscar but then snatched it away again at the last second.

"Hang on. Are you just to use that straight on the wound?"

"Of course," replied Oscar. He spoke as though it was a stupid question.

Emile shook his head. "If you do that, you'll seal up the flesh with the shot still inside. The arm won't heal right."

"I _know_ that," said Oscar helplessly. "But what else can we do?"

"Simple," Emile prodded him on the chest. "You're a doctor. You get that bullet out of her."

"What?" Oscar said, blanching at his words. "No way! I'm no doctor yet Em! You know I'm still in training. There's no way I could perform surgery on someone!"

"Hey, it's not like you're cutting her open or anything," Emile replied. "All you have to do is dig the bullet out and the ragnaid will do the rest. Simple."

Oscar shook his head frantically as though the mere suggestion was crazy. "No way. We should go fetch the village doctor to do it."

"We don't have time!" Emile shouted. "It'll be an hour by the time we're back with him! If the wound's infected by then, she could lose her arm!"

"I told you Em,I can't! I've never done it before!"

"You have to! This is exactly what you've been training for! Come on bro, do it for Miss O'Hara!"

"No!" screamed Oscar. "I can't! This isn't an operating theatre and…" He turned away and shook his head dismally. "I'll mess it up if I try. There's no way I can do it."

"Tough!" shouted Emile, grabbing his brother's shoulder and yanking him around to face him. "Doctors don't get a choice as to when they have to act! Miss O'Hara needs help and here and now, you're the only person who can give it to her. Are you really going to let her down?" His eyes narrowed, boring into his brother with an anger that he had never felt for him before. "If you don't help her now she'll never be able to hold a rifle again. Are you really going to be the person to take that away from her?"

Oscar looked down at his feet, then across to Catherine, hopelessly torn between his desire to help her and the terrifying responsibility of having to do so. In the end he chose the only option truly available to him, just as Emile had known he would.

"Fine then," he muttered. "I'll give it a go. But you'll have to help me."

"Of course I will bro," Emile replied calmly. "I'll do whatever I can."

"Okay then," Oscar swallowed nervously. "Then let's do this."

He darted over to their backpack and rummaged through it until he found his medicine bag. He took out a small sachet, tore it open and emptied the contents into a glass of water. The powder turned the liquid a sickly light-green colour. He brought the glass over and held it up to Catherine's lips.

"Here Miss O'Hara. Drink this."

Catherine was too weak to protest. She sipped delicately at the infusion and grimaced. "It's bitter," she muttered.

"Don't be a baby. Get it down you!" said Emile.

"Please Miss O'Hara. You have to finish it," said Oscar. "It will put you to sleep so I can…fix up your arm." His voice broke on that last part.

Catherine didn't say anything more, but allowed Oscar to help her drink more of the liquid. After the last gulp went down, her eyelids started to droop. Oscar was only just able to catch her in his arms as she fell forward out of the chair unconscious.

"Come on, let's get her on the table," he said.

Emile nodded and righted the table, which had knocked over during the fight. He then took Catherine's feet and together the brothers lifted her gently on to it. Emile fetched a pillow to prop under her head while Oscar stood over her body, sizing up the task at hand.

For a moment the brothers regarded the sleeping form of their mentor. With her eye so swollen and her face blotched with bruises she looked like an imperfect image of the Catherine they knew, as though they were looking at a familiar painting whose colours had run. However as she lay they there was still something about her – perhaps the serene parting of her lips or the way her short dark hair framed her face so delicately – which made her undeniably their Catherine. The Catherine whom they adored with a love which they had only ever reserved for each other until she had come into their lives.

Eventually Emile broke the silence. "It's up to you now bro," he said. "I know you can do this. It's just like sniping. Be calm. Take your time. But don't waste your chances. Just like Miss O'Hara taught us."

"Right," said Oscar, raising his scalpel in a trembling hand. "I'll do the best I can. For her sake."

***

_That pain. _

_That dreadful pain._

_Today it nearly found me again. And it shouldn't have. _

_I took myself to these mountains to escape any chance of feeling it again. Up here I was alone. And safe. Nothing should have been able to threaten the numb peace that I had found for myself. _

_And yet the pain nearly found me again. _

_It was a freak set of circumstances __that brought both the boys and that vengeful Imp to my doorstep within a day of each other. And freak luck that we all survived that deadly fight. So many things could have gone so horribly different. That Imp may have killed Emile on sight. Or Oscar could have missed the shot. Or I might not have reached the rifle in time. So many scenarios which would have ended the boys' lives. _

_And then…oh, how the pain would have come back to haunt me. _

_I don't know how this __all happened. Perhaps fate was taunting me for my decision. By dangling those boys who I loved so much right in front of my face and threatening to steal their lives so that I would lose those most precious to me for a third time. _

_Oh Oscar__. Oh Emile. How I still love the both of you. _

_If only you could have been part of my second life. I wish __that you could have been my pupils at Cliffewick and that I could have been your teacher. That way you could have known a Catherine O'Hara who still had a life to live. I would have delighted in teaching you of the wonders of calculus, how to read a musical score and where to find the meaning in a fine piece of prose. And I would have held you close and protected you too, as though you were my very own boys. Because after all, for a brief period of time, you _were_ my boys. _

_But that can't happen now. __This Catherine has felt that pain too much already. The pain of loving her boys only to lose them…that is not something she is strong enough to bear. _

_I could never stop loving you of my own accord. So we must part ways. You must live your own lives as well as you can in this cruel world of pain. And I must stay here and hope that the love I feel for you will fade with time so that I may finally have peace. _

_That is the way it must be. _

_And__ boys…_

_I a__m so, so sorry._


	12. Ten

_The blinding sunlight which slipped through the crack of the curtains felt like a needle piercing through his eyes and into his brain. Oscar groaned and turned over. He wanted to sleep some more, but it wasn't going to be easy. After last night his head was throbbing and the sound of Hannes snoring across the room was like a chainsaw grinding into his head. _

"_Hey bro. You awake?" _

_Emile's voice came from the bunk below. Oscar tried to ignore him but then felt his brother jabbing his mattress from underneath. Giving up on his snooze, he flung his head over the side of the bed to confront him. _

"_Cut that out," he muttered. "Isn't your head killing you too?"_

_Emile grinned back up at him. "Course not. Unlike you I can handle my booze!" _

_Oscar sniffed. "Yeah, right. It's just because you threw up after the fifth round."_

"_Hey, it's not like it stopped me drinking did it?" Emile replied with a chuckle. "Anyway I was wondering. Did you see Miss O'Hara at the victory party last night?"_

_Oscar shook his head, which proved to be a mistake since it brought the throbbing in his head to a crescendo. "I remember we looked for her all over but no-one had seen her. Then of course Hannes and Walter shoved drinks into our hands and…that's about the last thing I can remember."_

_Emile grin widened so that it was almost ear to ear. "You don't remember your singing then? Or dancing with Aisha?"_

"_No," said Oscar, smothering his face with his hands. "And don't bother reminding me."_

"_Oh, you can bet I will!" said Emile. "But right now we should go find Miss O'Hara." He hopped up out of bed and pulled on a shirt. "I feel kind of bad that we missed her last night. We should go and see her now to make up for it._

_Oscar stared at him through bleary eyes "Will she even be up yet?"_

"_Course she will bro. It's midday you know! She'll have been up for hours!"_

"_Fine," said Oscar, swinging his legs over the bed. If it was for Miss O'Hara then he would get up, despite the million hammers that were pounding away inside his skull. _

_They went to her room first. All they had found there was a severely hung-over Jane, who had thrown a boot in their rough direction and told them to leave her in peace. Assuming that their mentor was up and about, as Emile had guessed, they began to search all her usual haunts on the base. They checked the rec room where she often liked to settle with a book. They checked the canteen in case she was having a bite to eat. They checked the training field in case she was running a few laps._

_She wasn't in any of those places. By the time they hadn't found her on the shooting range they were beginning to get worried. _

_They started to ask around for her. The man at the entrance gate hadn't seen her, suggesting that she hadn't left the base. Then they had sought out other Sevens and had asked every one they had come across whether they had seen her. Freesia, Yoko and Coby all said that they hadn't. Even Juno had shaken her head, saying that she hadn't seen her since they had returned from the final mission. She had been concerned about her too and the boys promised to let her know when they eventually found her. _

_After a full hour of fruitless searching, they took a break. They rested against the wall to catch their breath, worn out after having covered the whole base from corner to corner. Oscar fetched a couple of juice-boxes from the canteen and tossed one to his brother. As they sipped their refreshments, they scanned the yard in front of them, in the vain hope that they might suddenly see their elusive mentor walking across it. _

"_Where could she have gone?" Emile asked, idly playing with his straw. "It's not like her to disappear like this."_

"_I know," said Oscar. "It's strange." Suddenly he had a thought and turned to Emile anxiously. "You don't think she's upset with us do you? You know, about us drinking too much last night?"_

"_Nah, don't think she would be," Emile replied. "We've just won the War, bro. We had every right to celebrate didn't we?" A slight smile crept onto his face "I'd say if she's upset about anything it would be your awful singing." _

_That comment earned him a smack on the head. _

_Just then they became aware of someone standing across from them – a slender woman with dark hair. For a moment they thought it was Catherine and turned to her eagerly. To their disappointment – and surprise – it was Marina instead. Her expression was as stoic as ever. It didn't matter that they had finally defeated their Imperial invaders against impossible odds - a smile from her was too much to ask for. _

"_Corporal O'Hara, asked me to give you a message," she said. Her tone was bland, impossible to read._

_The brothers exchanged glances. What could Catherine possibly have to say to them that she couldn't tell them herself? And why would she have entrusted her message to the least sociable member in the entire squad?_

"_Okay then," said Oscar, urging her to go on. In his gut he felt a growing sense of dread._

_Marina's expression didn't change. "She said she had some things to attend to elsewhere, so she would have to take her leave from the squad." _

_No sooner had she finished the sentence then she started to turn away. _

"_Hey wait!" cried Oscar. "What do you mean 'take her leave'? Are you saying she's left the squad for good?" _

"_Yes," Marina replied without stopping. _

"_She didn't say anything else?" asked Emile. "Didn't she even give a reason?"_

"_No." She sounded impatient now. "That was the whole message."_

"_But why…"_

_Marina suddenly turned and glared at him with the one eye that wasn't hidden by her fringe. "I don't know," she stated with a note of finality that cut off any chance of further questions. _

_With that she strode away. The pair of them watched her back as she walked off, too stunned to think straight. Why would Catherine leave the Squad so suddenly and without even a word of goodbye? _

_It figured that Marina wouldn't ask for a reason. Oscar wondered if that was why Catherine had asked her to deliver the message for her. _

_After a short, bewildered silence, the two brothers slowly turned their heads to each other. "How could she do this bro?" Emile asked. "I know the war is over. It wasn't like Squad 7 was going to stay together forever. But to leave without saying a word...how could she do that to us?"_

_Oscar felt as dejected as his brother. It hurt that the woman who had taught them so much and watched out for them throughout the whole war had just left without so much as a goodbye hug. And yet inside he felt a sudden tug of resolve. He knew he would see her again somehow. He would make sure of it. She was just too important to him to lose from his life so suddenly. _

_He gave his brother a comforting slap on the back. "Don't worry Em. I'm sure we'll see her again soon," he said. "She'll come back to us, I know she will." He looked over to the hills in the distance as though by doing so he would be able to spot her on the horizon. "And if she doesn't we'll go and find her ourselves."_

# # # # # # #

**Ten**

Ever since she had come to the village of Ettau, Catherine's days had followed a very regular routine. Wake up, cup of tea, do some odd jobs in town for a little cash, hunt in the evening, dinner, another cup of tea, then bed. It was a routine predictable to the point of being boring. Just the kind of peaceful existence she had sought out here in the middle of nowhere.

However such a humdrum life had made her mind complacent and completely unprepared to cope with the events of the last couple of days. Her head was spinning with everything that had happened - the rude arrival of the brothers, the heart-breaking moonlit conversation with Oscar, the horrible moment when she had realised Emile was in danger and, of course, the brutal fight with that Imp…

That last thought jerked her awake. The Imp! Her eyes shot open, her mouth wide in a soundless cry. Then she remembered that he was dead, killed by her own hand. The danger was over now.

She found herself lying in her bed. The light was dim but she couldn't tell whether it morning or evening. Oddly she felt clean and refreshed. After the fight her battered body had been drenched with blood and sweat. Now someone had tended to her wounds, washed her face, changed her into a nightshirt and tucked her into bed.

She didn't have to look far to find out whom. Oscar was sitting in the chair beside the bed, arms folded, head bobbing to and fro as he slept. She watched him fondly for a second. Though his face was solemn, he looked reassuringly peaceful in slumber.

_Been a tough day, hasn't it Oscar dear?_

She watched him a few moments longer, unable to keep the affectionate smile from touching her lips. He must have somehow felt her gaze on him since his eyes suddenly flittered open.

"Hey you're awake!" he said, immediately coming down to her side. "How are you feeling Miss O'Hara?"

Catherine tried to reply but her voice came out as a weak croak. Oscar immediately reached for his flask. He helped her to sit up, then handed it to her. She drank deeply, the cool water feeling heavenly sloshing down her parched throat.

"Thank you dear," she whispered, returning the flask to him.

Oscar placed it on the bedside table so that it was within easy reach if she wanted it again. "Do you need anything else?" he asked. "I've got painkillers if you need them. And Emile is outside cooking up some food."

Catherine still felt dazed and barely heard his words. She absently cast her eyes around her cabin, noticing that the boys had done their best to clean the place up after the fight. They had swept up the broken crockery, put the furniture back in its place and hung the curtain back up so that it covered the broken window. The table had been set upright again, though her blue teapot was no longer set on it having been broken during the tussle. She felt a sudden pang at that; she had really_ liked_ that teapot.

Suddenly she noticed something odd. Her shoulder was sore. Just sore. Not excruciatingly painful as it should have been, considering the shot that had all but torn her shoulder apart. She pulled her nightshirt collar down to take a look at the wound.

To her amazement it had completely vanished. The skin there was raw and a fresh shade of pink, but otherwise there was no sign that she had ever been shot.

"My goodness," she breathed. "Did you do this Oscar?"

Oscar looked away sheepishly. "Well, the ragnaid did most of the work." He gestured at the table, on which there were three empty canisters. "We'd brought a lot of it with us just in case Emile's health took a turn for worse. Guess it's a good thing that we did."

"You got the bullet out too?" she asked, pressing lightly on the skin there.

"Sure did. Here, take a look," Oscar turned and picked up a saucer and handed it to her. It contained the misshapen slug which had been fired into her. Catherine gazed down at it in wonder.

"That's amazing Oscar. How on earth did you manage that?"

He shrugged. "Just a simple little operation," he said. "Nothing I couldn't handle." When her gaze questioned him further he added, "Well you see, I've started to study medicine."

"My goodness! Really?" she asked, unable to hide her shock. She couldn't believe it - Oscar in medical training? The boy who went queasy at the sight of a paper-cut?

"Yeah. One of the physicians at Sleepy Lakes is training me. Someday I'm hoping to become a doctor."

"Goodness," Catherine found herself breathless. She couldn't believe Oscar hadn't mentioned this to her last night, when they had been catching up. "What brought this on then?" she asked.

Oscar smiled meekly and nodded his head to the door. "You even need to ask?"

"Ah." The penny dropped. There was only ever one reason as to why Oscar would face his fears this way. "I see. You're doing it for Emile's sake, aren't you?"

He nodded. "I'm hoping that someday, I'll be good enough to fix his illness for good."

Doing it for his brother. How very like him that was. A tremor of delight ran down her spine as she pictured Oscar – normally so unsure of himself – as a doctor, healing wounds and saving lives on a daily basis. "That's wonderful," she said, beaming at him. "Gallia needs doctors far more than it needs snipers now. I'm so proud of you Oscar."

Instantly she caught herself. _Stop playing the mother role to him. You've no right to play it any more. Have you no willpower? _

Oscar looked away, bashful now. "You should thank Emile too. He was the one who encouraged me to go ahead with the operation. I was a little nervous about it at first."

"A little nervous? You were pissing your pants!"

Emile came into the hut, grinning impishly at his brother (who made a face at him in response). To Catherine's relief, the damage to his face had been mostly repaired. She was glad they hadn't wasted _all_ their ragnaid on her.

"I heard your voice from outside Miss O'Hara," he said chirpily. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, can't complain," she replied with a mild smile. "Your face is looking much better."

"Sure is," he said. "Well, couldn't leave it as it was. I'd have lost my reputation as the handsome twin!" He chuckled and Oscar rolled his eyes.

"Anyway hope you're hungry," he continued. "I've cooked up the Sergeant Potter special - vegetable soup and lots of it! It's nearly ready, but in the meantime I made you a cup of tea." He brought his hands out from behind his back to present her with a steaming cup on a saucer. "You said you wanted a cup right after the fight. Sorry it's taken so long to get you one."

"Why, thank you Emile," she said, genuinely grateful. She accepted the cup from him and took a long sip, shivering with pleasure as the tea trickled down her throat, warming her to her soul. To her surprise, he had made it exactly as she liked it – with just a splash of milk and no sugar. It touched her that he had remembered exactly how she took her tea.

"You shouldn't be making a fuss over me like this," she said, taking another sip. She felt uncomfortable relying on them, knowing full well that she would have to eventually get rid of them for good.

"Course we should," said Oscar. "What kind of students would we be if we didn't give our teacher a helping hand when she needed it?"

Catherine bit her lip pensively. _They still think they can be a part of my life _she thought dismally. It had been so hard to justify her decision to Oscar the first time. Were they really going to force her to do it again?

_I will if I have to. But not just yet._ She was still feeling too fragile. If she even started on the topic right now she was sure she would break down in tears.

A few minutes later the soup was ready and Emile brought it in. Until her nose caught the aroma of the vegetables, Catherine hadn't realised how hungry she was. She finished her first bowl in the space of a few minutes and gratefully accepted a second helping when Emile offered. As they all ate, he sat on the foot of the bed and recounted the details of his capture and of the Imp who had performed it.

"He told me his name was Helmut Nonnenkof," he said. "He was the Commander of the Imp forces during the Marberry Shore operation. He survived the battle somehow but was stranded in Gallia. Guess he's been lying low in these mountains ever since then."

"I see," said Catherine. "And that gave him time to nurse a grudge against the squad which defeated him so soundly."

"He took me completely by surprise. He certainly didn't look friendly when he was coming up the path but I was never expecting him to just wander up and club me 'round the head!" He demonstrated the action by pretending to hit himself on the head with his spoon.

"When I was tied to the chair I thought I was done for, and that you two would be soon to follow. I mean, when he shot at you through the door I thought he'd got you. I really did. It was the worst moment of my life."

Catherine's lips curved wryly. "Come now Emile. You don't honestly think I would have walked straight up to the door if I had even the slightest inkling that an enemy was lying in wait do you?"

"I guess not," said Emile contritely. "You always have a miracle up your sleeve, don't you Miss O'Hara?"

"I wouldn't call it a miracle," said Catherine. "Just a half-baked plan and the devil's luck."

That wasn't far from the truth. The plan had been far too risky, with so many chances for failure. Yet it had been the best she could conjure up on short notice.

After she and Oscar had suspected a trap, she had approached the cabin from the rear, coming around to the front door on her belly so that she wouldn't be detected. Then whilst standing to one side of the door, she had knocked and announced her presence, hoping to goad a shot from the intruder, which would serve to both to confirm that a hostile was inside and to discharge their weapon.

Upon the confirmation of an enemy, Oscar – positioned in Catherine's own favoured sniping spot in the bush on the hillside – was to shoot the lock off the door, allowing her to enter the cabin. The idea was that with the intruder's weapon unloaded, and him assuming she had taken a bullet, she would be able to catch him off guard with a surprise attack.

She hadn't known of his close combat prowess but had always assumed that whoever the intruder was, he would be stronger than her, and would probably best her in a hand-to-hand fight. If her surprise attack didn't kill him, the plan was to remove the curtains from the small side-window which would allow Oscar to take a shot at the enemy from his position.

As she remembered that part of the plan she scolded herself with a grimace. She had messed that part up. She should have brought Oscar into play far sooner than she had, at the moment Emile had knocked the ammo box off the table. It had been a split-second decision and at the time she had thought she could finish the Imp with a decisive blow. Of course her blow hadn't killed him and she had ended up taking a ferocious beating.

Live and learn, she supposed. At least it had been only her that had suffered as a result of her impulsiveness. And no matter how much punishment she had received, she could regard this mission as a complete success because both of the boys were now sitting before her, alive and smiling.

"No, it wasn't the best plan," she admitted. "But I'm not going to argue with the results."

"Yeah," said Oscar. "Somehow we're all still alive."

"I can't believe you managed to pull it off," Emile said. "You saved my life today Miss O'Hara. You really did. But I'm really sorry that you had to in the first place." He looked to one side, scratching his cheek with a finger. It was a guilty gesture. Catherine knew she had to put a stop to that right away.

"Emile," she said. "Please don't feel that way. It wasn't your fault."

Emile stared back at her, unconvinced. "But if I'd have been more careful you wouldn't have gotten so beaten up…"

"No," Catherine stated. "There's no way you could have seen this coming." She reached out to take his hand, squeezing it to comfort him. "Emile, this was a freak occurrence. Things like this do happen in this bizarre world of ours, but we can't chide ourselves for not anticipating them. Not even I am so paranoid that I expect Imps to come knocking at my door."

She looked off to one side. "In any case Emile, we're even. Perhaps I saved your life today. But you saved mine as well."

He tilted his head questioningly. "What do you mean?"

She tapped the wooden bedside table beside the bed. "You stopped him from reloading when you knocked this table over. If he had managed to get a bullet in the chamber, he'd have had me dead to rights."

"And that's not all," she continued. She reached into her nightshirt and brought out the tiny pendant the boys had given her. Reassuringly she could feel the weight of a bullet inside – Oscar must have thought to replace the one she had fired before.

"That Imp had me at his mercy but because I had a bullet on me, I was able to fire back at him," she said. "If I hadn't had this pendant, I would have been killed. There's no question about it. You didn't just give the most thoughtful gift I had ever received on that Feast of All Spirits. I didn't know it at the time, but you were saving my life as well." She smiled triumphantly at him. "I saved your life once today, but you saved mine twice. So let's have no more guilt. Okay?"

Emile relaxed and returned her smile, looking very much reassured. "Okay. Thanks Miss O'Hara."

"Not at all Emile darling," she said, giving his hand another squeeze.

"She's right you know, little bro," said Oscar, as he wiped up the last bits of soup from his bowl with a piece of bread. "It wasn't your fault at all. In fact if we're going to blame anyone for this it should be Marina."

Both of them looked at him oddly, so he explained. "At Marberry Shore she was ordered to snipe off the commander. That is to say, our friend Mister Nonnenkof."

"Really?" said Emile. "So how come he was still alive?"

Oscar cringed. "Well, the thing is…she missed."

There was a moment of incredulous silence. "Marina _missed_ a shot?!" cried Emile, as though unable to believe such a thing were possible.

"Hey, give her a break," Oscar said. "She was firing from long range through a cloud of smoke! It was an impossible shot to begin with. And besides…" He spread his arms. "She didn't exactly miss. While she didn't hit the commander, she got the guy next to him right in the forehead."

"Of course!" Emile suddenly shouted, snapping his fingers. "Klaus! It was him!"

"Klaus?" Catherine asked. "Oh yes, I remember Nonnenkof mentioning that name during the fight."

"Klaus was his right-hand man," said Emile. "He told me that he was sniped from afar during the Marberry Shore operation. If Nonnenkof saw him die then he must have been near him and if he was such a trusted comrade then it makes sense they would be fighting side-by-side in the battle. The guy Marina shot must have been him."

"And it was his death that got him really riled up?" said Oscar.

"Yep. More than anything he wanted revenge against the sniper that killed him. Guess that means we have Marina to thank for today's happy little incident." Emile tutted like a disapproving parent. "Honestly, that girl! Leaving us to take care of her leftovers!"

"I think we can forgive her this one," said Catherine. "She downed so many enemy soldiers and saved so many lives that I think we can let this one slide."

"Yeah," said Emile. "After all that Helmut guy wasn't so tough!"

"No, of course not," said Catherine, sombre all of a sudden. "Just a sore loser who couldn't leave the war behind. Just a fool who didn't realise how lucky he had been to survive it and let his experiences ruin him." Her smile had dulled to a faraway frown. "I could never accept someone like that taking your lives, or my own for that matter."

Her sudden seriousness quelled the conversation for a few moments. But as per usual Emile was on hand to lighten the mood again.

"Still," he said, "After all the hassle we've been through today, the least Marina owes us is a round of drinks!"

That had all three of them chuckling together – even Catherine couldn't stop herself from tittering behind her hand. Now that everyone was smiling again Emile stood and started to collect up the empty soup-bowls. "Did you get enough to eat Miss O'Hara?" he asked. "If you're done I'll get Oscar to start washing up."

Oscar turned to him. "What?"

"It's only fair. I did the cooking after all…"

Before Oscar could protest, they heard a gunshot outside the cabin. It was followed by a gruff demanding voice.

"You in there! Get out here right now! We're having a little talk with you!"

The three of them stared at each other in shock. In an instant the light atmosphere had fled the room. Catherine instinctively reached for her rifle before realising it was propped against the wall across the room, rather than by her bedside where she normally kept it. Oscar picked it up but instead of bringing it over, held on to it himself. Meanwhile Emile headed over the window and gently pulled the curtain aside to take a look outside.

"Who is it?" Oscar asked, trying to keep the panic from his voice.

Emile let the curtain fall closed again. "Looks like some of the townsfolk," he murmured grimly. "They're armed and don't look happy."

There was another shot, causing all three of them to flinch again. The voice sounded out once more. "Get out here! Don't make me tell you again."

Catherine threw the covers off and started to get up, but Oscar stood in her way to stop her.

"Stay there Miss O'Hara. I'll go see what they want."

"Oscar…" she started but he had already turned towards the door.

"Em, stay here and watch her," he said as he turned the handle. Before either of them could stop him he had headed outside.

***

There were four of them, heavy-set men, each one carrying a shotgun and a grim expression. Oscar recognised one of them as the old bartender who they had spoken to when they had first arrived. He felt naked walking out there in front of them – with only a sniper rifle at his disposal he was all but defenceless at this range. If they opened fire on him the best he could hope for was to take one of them with him.

"What do you want?" he asked, trying not to sound as intimidated as he felt.

The barman slowly stepped forward. He was chewing a wad of tobacco and regarded Oscar through cold eyes.

"You killed Helmut Nonnenkof?" he asked, in a tone that demanded an answer. He gestured with his gun at the sheet-covered corpse, which the brothers had dragged a distance from the cabin to be disposed of later.

"We did," said Oscar, speaking as levelly as he could manage. "But please understand that he attacked us first. We killed him in self-defence."

"I told you before," the barman murmured. "I told you we didn't want no strangers here bringin' war to this town. But what do you go and do? Before you've even been here a day, you go and kill one of our own."

"It wasn't our fault!" Oscar cried. "I told you, he attacked us first!"

His words went ignored. "Mister Nonnekof was a gentleman," the barman continued. "Kept himself to himself and always paid for his beer. Men like that are welcome here. Warmongers like you ain't."

He turned his head and spat out the tobacco. "We want you out of town. Both you and that woman."

"What, Miss O'Hara too?" Oscar asked incredulously. "No way, you can't evict her! This is her home and she's done nothing wrong!"

"You gonna make things hard for us?" the barman asked, cocking his gun. The other three did the same, the sounds combining in a series of satisfying _click_s.

"This isn't fair!" Oscar yelled. Even though he didn't want Catherine to stay in this lonely place, if she was to leave he wanted it to be on her own terms. Not by being run out of town by this band of thugs.

"How can you call _us_ warmongers?" he shouted. "That Nonnenkof guy was going to murder us! And we're not the ones who are trying to bully someone into leaving by showing up with guns!"

"Oscar, that's enough."

Oscar turned at Catherine's calm voice. She had hastily thrown some clothes and her hair was dishevelled from lying on the pillow. Nevertheless she stood tall and proud as she addressed the mob.

"I was the one who killed Helmut Nonnenkof. I take full responsibility for his death. I understand your demands and will have left town by sunrise tomorrow. Will that be acceptable to you?"

The men looked at one another, nonplussed at the way she had submitted so easily. They almost seemed disappointed that there wasn't going to be a fight.

"Fine," the barman said. Before he turned away he spat out a disgusting gob of tobacco which landed on top of Catherine's bare foot. Oscar surged forward in a fury but Catherine caught his shoulder to stop him.

"Let them go," she whispered to him.

"Bastard!" Oscar yelled at the man.

The barman scowled back at him. "Least I ain't a murderer." With that he and the rest of his posse turned their backs on them and wandered back along the track.

Catherine's hand stayed on Oscar's shoulder as they watched them leave. Then the pair of them silently headed back to the cabin, Catherine stopping to clean her foot by wiping it on the grass. No sooner had she closed the door behind her than Oscar whirled to confront her.

"Miss O'Hara, how can you give up so easily?" he demanded, full of indignation. "Those guys have no right to force you out of your home. I mean, you were in Squad 7! They should be honoured to even have you in their village! And to think that…"

"Oscar, Oscar, please calm down," she said, pressing her palms downwards. "It really doesn't matter. I would have had to leave here anyway."

"Why's that?"

She paused, turned her head to one side to avoid his gaze. "You know why," she said quietly. "You found me here. That means I'll have to do a better job of hiding myself next time."

Oscar's heart skipped a beat at the dreadful implication of her words. "You mean after everything you're still going to leave us?"

"Of course I am," she said simply, sitting back down on the bed. "Did you really think otherwise?"

"But we were getting on so well…I thought…"

He trailed off when he saw Catherine solemnly shaking her head. "Nothing has changed Oscar. We still must go our separate ways. And this time, you mustn't come after me." Though she couldn't face them, she spoke with resolution. Her mind was made up.

"Huh," grunted Emile. Both of them turned to look at him.

"Just seems strange to me," he continued, regarding Catherine dubiously. "You're saying you want us gone. Yet just a few hours ago you were risking your life for us." He stared at her accusingly. "How can you say we mean nothing to you after that?"

His words caused Catherine face to crumple up with genuine hurt. "Please don't say that Emile dear. You can't say I don't love you because I do. I love you too much. Today's incident reminded me of just that. I've never been so worried in all my life

"But today also reminded me how fragile life is and how easily the pain I know so well could return to me." She hung her head, refusing to look at him directly.

"The problem isn't that I don't love you. It's that I am no longer strong enough to bear the pain that that love opens me to." She faced them now, eyes shimmering. "You know I couldn't bear it if I lost you."

Oscar took a step towards her. "Miss O'Hara, you'll never lose us. I promise you won't," he said, imploring her with his hands. "We will always stay by your side. We'll never leave you, or let anything take us from you. I'll make sure of it!"

Catherine shook her head again, her fringe hiding her mournful eyes. "I would lose you, eventually I would. I lose everyone. I could go with you now and we would be happy for a while. But then, on one unsuspecting day, something terrible would happen and suddenly you would be gone. That is the way my life works."

Emile folded his arms sceptically. "That's just paranoid Miss O'Hara."

"No it isn't," she retorted. "Just look how close I came to losing you today."

"But Miss O'Hara, you _didn't_ lose us today," said Oscar, coming around so she could see him. "Sure, you came close but you didn't. Because you protected us just like you always have."

"Yeah," added Emile. "No matter what hardships we face in the future, we'll be able to deal with them so long as you're around to protect us."

"I can't protect you," said Catherine sadly. "I'm not fit to protect anyone. Not after everything that's happened, everyone else who I've failed to protect. My parents. My former comrades. Marsha. Cliffewick. Even you Emile. You were in my care today and I let you get captured…"

"Stop it!" shouted Oscar. "You can't be responsible for everyone Miss O'Hara! You're not a God or even a Valkrur. You're just…a wonderful person." His eyes creased up and he looked down at his hands, wringing them hopelessly in front of him. "You've always protected us Miss O'Hara. Remember the first time we met? Before that battle I was terrified out of my wits. But you came over, comforted me and told me you would watch out for me.

His face softened with fondness, the grim line of his mouth suddenly quivering. "And you always have, Miss O'Hara. You always have. And not only by protecting us, but by bringing out the best in us."

He turned his head away, staring at the wall self-consciously. "I'm a coward by nature. I've never been brave or confident and there was a time when I never thought I could be good at anything. But you came along and showed me that I could be worth something. You gave me belief in my own ability. I've always wanted to be a doctor but until I met you I would never have believed I had the strength to make my dream come true."

"Me too!" chirped Emile. "I've always been a burden for Oscar but you made me into a sniper so I could finally protect him just like he always protected me. Not to mention that without you I would never have had the courage to approach Nancy."

"Nancy?" Oscar asked, suddenly distracted.

Emile ignored him. "You remember, don't you Miss O'Hara? When we talked about her on the training field?"

"I do," said Catherine softly, playing along for now at least.

"Well, I took your advice and started talking more with her. By the end of the war we were really close, though I never got around to asking her to go steady. But that changed at the wedding of Miss Alicia and the Commander."

His eyes took on a distant sheen, his fond memories erasing all trace of embarrassment. "It was just after the reception. We'd been dancing together for a while but the hall was getting stuffy so we decided to head out to get some fresh air.

"It was a beautiful night, full moon shining, stars in the sky, crickets chirping, you know, that kind of scene. We held hands as we walked down to the stream by the residence and sat there for a while. I told her she looked beautiful and she blushed in that cute way of hers.

"And then…she let me kiss her."

Catherine and Oscar both gasped in unison, their eyes gaping at him like full moons. Emile's cheeks reddened and he tried to cover them with his hands.

"We've kept in touch since. You know, writing letters and stuff. I told her I'd come and visit her when my health was up to it. And she said that she's really looking forward to it."

His eyes, full of genuine gratitude, met Catherine's. "I have you to thank for that Miss O'Hara. I never would have approached her if you haven't given me that little push."

Catherine's expression remained constant, neutral. If Emile's words had touched her she wasn't showing it.

There were a dozen more questions that Oscar wanted to ask his brother (they were twins after all – he couldn't believe he had kept such a secret from him). He put them to one side for now. There were a bigger issue at hand and he felt they had an advantage to press.

"Don't you see Miss O'Hara?" he said. "You're done so much for us. You taught us how to shoot, given us confidence, defended us on both the battlefield and at the base. You took such good care of us. So don't say you can't protect us."

Even as he said spoke, something clicked into place in his mind. How had he not seen it before? It was as though he had finally found a piece of the puzzle that had been in the pile right in front of him but had eluded him until he had picked it up by chance.

"That's right. You always did take care of us. But, when it comes down to it, we never took care of you."

He stepped across so he was standing right before her, his face alive with his sudden realisation. "That's right. It's shameful, but we never looked after you the same way you looked after us. If we had done you wouldn't have come out here to be alone would you?"

He screwed his face up, disgusted with himself. "I guess it was just too easy for us to see you as an unshakable mother figure who couldn't be fazed by anything. We forgot that you were human too, with you own doubts and painful memories."

"Oscar, don't. It wasn't your responsibility to …" Catherine trailed off as he carried on talking.

"There's nothing I can say to make up for not seeing that side of you. But I promise you Miss O'Hara, if you come with us now that will change." He suddenly grabbed her hands and held them in his own. "We'll take care of you just as you've always taken care of us. We'll defend your happiness just like it was our own base camp. So come on Miss O'Hara. Say you'll stay with us."

Something seemed to falter in her then. A trace of uncertainty flickered across her features. She suddenly looked like a little girl who had been offered a ride on the pony of her dreams and wasn't sure if she dared accept it. For the briefest moment, Oscar thought they had convinced her but then the defeat flooded back into her expression and she hung her head again.

"I know you would do your best Oscar," she said. "But still…I can't."

"You can Miss O'Hara!" Oscar insisted, clutching her hands tighter as he pressed her. "I know you can."

"No. No I can't! Stop it!" Catherine ripped her hands out of Oscar's and turned away from him. "This isn't fair!" she shrieked. "Stop trying to change my mind!"

Taken aback, Oscar drew away. This wasn't the scolding tone of a teacher. It was the petulant demands of a spoiled teenager desperate to have her own way.

"Listen to me!" she said. "My decision is final. I have to live alone from now on. It was a heart-wrenching choice to make but I put a lot of thought into it and decided that this was the way things had to be. How many times are you going to make me tell that to you? Why can't you just respect my decision!?"

Her knotted fists gripped the duvet tightly. She looked ready to rip it in half in sheer frustration.

"I've told you _over_ and _over_. The time I spent with you boys was wonderful. But those days are over now and we must part." Her shoulders relaxed a little and she closed her eyes. They barely heard the next words she spoke.

"I can't let myself be vulnerable again. That pain…that dreadful pain…"

For a moment there was silence. Then Emile stood bolt upright. When reflecting on it later, Oscar wasn't sure what had set his brother off. Perhaps it was the realisation that their final chance to bring her back with them had finally dribbled away. Whatever the case, he had stridden across the room, leaned in close to Catherine and started to scream in her face.

"Oh Miss O'Hara, will you_ shut up _about your pain!?"

She gawked at him, mouth helplessly opening and closing like a fish. Both she and Oscar were too stunned to react. Emile stared her down, his body heaving with the anger that he was struggling to contain.

"You've suffered a lot Miss O'Hara. But in case you haven't noticed so has everyone else! In tough times like these, people die and lose things that are special to them. That's just the way things are. But what's the point of even living if we spend every day worried about the pain the future will bring?"

He flung a trembling arm behind him, gesturing at his brother. "Look at Oscar! He calls himself a coward but he's actually the bravest person I know since he stands by his weak sick brother no matter what! See that scar on his head?" He patted his own temple, in the place where his brother's scar was. "He got that wrestling with a pit bull which had attacked me! And he's becoming a doctor for my sake alone even though he can't stand the sight of blood! Hell, he even signed up with the militia and fought in a war, just so he could protect me!"

His voice lowered, took on a tone of fondness. "He did all these things even knowing that he could lose me any day. With my health we never know when my body will finally give up for good. But Oscar's not worried about the pain of losing me. He stands by me no matter what because he cares for me. Because we make each other's lives worth living."

He shoved a finger into her face, voice rising again. "I guess you can't see things Oscar's way. Instead you're more like Nonnenkof. You said earlier that he was just a fool who let the events of the past destroy any hope he had for a happy future. But how are you any different? All both of you did was to come to rot in this god-forsaken wasteland, dwelling on painful memories and letting them keep you from moving forward with your lives.

"Those memories drove him to a pointless attempt at revenge but in your case the one the memories are harming is you yourself. You're so afraid of getting hurt that you won't even risk building another life for yourself with those your love.

Eyes blazing, he leaned towards her, fists clenching and unclenching. "If you want to stay here and rot like that pathetic Imp then we can't stop you. You were the closest thing to a mother we ever had and losing you were be the worst thing that has ever happened to us. But nevertheless we'll learn to live with it. We'll try to move on and live our lives as best as we can without you. I don't know how, but we will. Because we have the courage to face the pain. Unlike you."

He spat the last two words, then turned his back on her, arms furiously folded. Oscar found his jaw hanging off his face, his body useless with shock. Catherine, still sat on the bed, had turned away from them so that they could no longer see her face. When she spoke, her words were barely a whisper.

"I think you boys had better leave now."

Emile stood there smouldering for a moment longer. But then he sharply snatched up their pack and slung it over his shoulder. "I guess that's it then. Come on Osc, let's go. I think we've outstayed our welcome."

He spun on his heel and headed straight for the door. Before he stepped out he turned back one final time.

"I guess we never were your boys after all."

With that, he headed out the door and was gone.

Oscar didn't know what to do. He cast his gaze helplessly between the open door and Catherine's motionless form. Pure desperation surged through his veins but he had no inspiration to go with it. No great idea of how to rescue the situation. It seemed that there was nothing left to do but walk away.

"Goodbye Miss O'Hara," he eventually said. After everything – all the battles they had fought through, the lessons she'd taught them, all the cups of tea they had shared – this final farewell seemed horrendously anti-climatic.

She merely tipped her head to him in response. She stayed as still and silent as a stuffed dummy as Oscar followed his brother out the door.

***

No sooner had the door closed behind Oscar then the wave of guilt crashed over her like a tsunami. She tried to stand up, but her legs went weak and she collapsed back on to the bed again. She lay there with a hand clutched to her heaving chest, upset to the point of hyperventilating.

_Come on now. Deep breaths, deep breaths. Tears are no good to anyone._

Once she had her breathing under control she felt her heartbeat slow again and her composure gradually return to her. But then she pinched the bridge of her nose in self-loathing when she remembered her demand for them to leave and Emile's cruel parting shot.

'_I guess we never were your boys after all.'_

Those words had wounded her more than Nonnenkof's shotgun had.

_What a horrid way to end it with them. He didn't have to use such harsh words._ She sighed out loud. _But I suppose I deserved it._

That hadn't been the way she had wanted to see them off. But at least it had been efficient. She would have had to send them away eventually – perhaps an abrupt break like this was the right way to do it, rather than a dragged-out, tearful farewell. Rip off the plaster in one swift motion, that was the best way.

_Anyway, they're gone now. You got what you wanted._

She took a gaze at her cabin. Now that the boys had left, it looked lonelier than ever. With her beloved teapot gone there was very little of her own identity in the place. It was a living space, not a home. A desolate room for a lonely woman to live alone and brood on painful memories for the rest of her life, never to be disturbed by the people she had once called friends. Was this what she had wanted when she came out here? This living death?

_Yes. When you're living in death there's no more pain._

_And no joy either._

_That's fine. That is the price I will pay for a peaceful life._

She crossed the room to pick up the broom she kept propped by the wardrobe. The floor didn't need sweeping since the boys had done a thorough job of that earlier, but she was desperate for a distraction. She snatched it up and started to sweep wildly, gripping the handle so tightly that her knuckles went white.

_It was the right decision. You did what you needed to do._

She carried on sweeping the same spot over and over. Her brush-strokes intensified, as though she was trying to dig up the floor rather than clean it. She pushed harder and harder, as though the task could somehow salve her conscience.

And then she felt it. Something so terrible and familiar.

It was the pain, welling up inside her so undeniably. This was how it began – the sensations were the same as she remembered. The sickly feeling of blood draining from her face, the nauseous tightening of her jaw, the sudden emptiness inside her as her soul shielded itself.

And above all of that, the feeling that some essential part of her had been unceremoniously wrenched out, never to be replaced.

_Why? Where is this wretched feeling coming from? _

The answer was obvious.

_They're gone and they're not coming back. They're out of your life forever now. It's as though they died. No wonder you're feeling the pain of loss again. _

She slapped herself on the temple. _No, that's wrong! There's a huge difference between someone leaving you and them being dead forever. It's not like with Mother and Father or Marsha. When I lost them I knew there was nothing left for them. But with the boys, I can rest easy knowing that somewhere else, they will be leading happy lives._

But could she? She recalled Emile's dismal words from earlier._ 'We'll try to move on and live our lives as best as we can without you. I don't know how, but we will.'_

_They'll be all right, even if they don't know it yet. They have each other to rely upon. They'll be fine. _

Yet she couldn't convince herself that that was true. How could she say that they would be fine when they were living alone in the cruellest age that Europa had ever seen? This was the age that had brought her a lifetime's worth of grief by the age of thirty-five. The age which had seen the untimely deaths of her mother, father and best friend. The age which had stolen the places she had called home twice over.

An age where an Imp could just totter up to your door and demand your lives for his vengeance…

_How can I possibly say that they'll be fine when they would have died today if it wasn't for me?_

Her chest suddenly tightened and she began to panic. _How can I abandon them so brutally when they are all alone in this cruel world with no-one to take care of them? Emile said I was the closest thing they had ever had to a mother. Am I taking their only parent away from them, just like my own parents were taken from me?_

_In protecting myself from the pain of loss, am I simply passing it on to them?_

The broom slipped from her grasp and clattered on to the floor as she came to the realisation.

_Without me, the boys have no guardian to protect them. And without them my own life is as worthless as Helmut Nonnenkof's corpse._

She turned around and looked at the door. She suddenly thought of Oscar, remembered what Emile had said about him before. How his devotion to his brother never wavered, no matter how close he came to Death's doorstep. How he loved him, despite the pain that was never far away.

_Do I have even a shred of that courage left in me?_

***

The last of the evening sun had faded away by now, making the precarious mountain path more difficult to follow than ever. Oscar wasn't paying proper attention to his footing and he slipped several times, bloodying his palms. He barely noticed the pain and picked himself up automatically each time. The emotions that were swirling around his head like frantic river eddies meant he had little mind for anything else.

Just ahead Emile was setting a relentless pace. He refused to wait, or even look back at him, simply striding ahead with his head down and one hand on the strap of his pack. Cleary he was in no mood for talking and they didn't speak as they made their way down the mountain.

_We failed. We couldn't bring her back to us. _

The disappointment was crushing. Catherine had been such a vital presence in their life, ever since they had first met her. For their whole lives they had been without a mother, yet she had slotted into that role so neatly. With all the love and knowledge she had showered on them, they had finally realised just what they had been missing all these years as orphans.

Now they would have to face up to a life without her. And Oscar was inclined to blame someone. As soon as he had caught up with his brother he grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him roughly around.

"Just where the _hell_ did that come from!?" he yelled in his face. "How _dare_ you talk to Miss O'Hara that way!"

Emile glared back at him, furious and unrepentant despite the tears streaming from his eyes. "It's so _stupid_," he said. "She's going to be lonely and unhappy for the rest of her life and there's nothing we can do about it."

"Yeah and I'm sure that little speech of yours really helped!" Oscar shouted. "Did you even want her to come back with us? It didn't sound like it to me!"

"Shut up!" Emile came back at him. "It's not my fault! Everything I said was true."

"I don't care!" Oscar yelled, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck. "You blew the last chance we had of bringing her back."

Emile gasped. His brother had never laid a hand on him this way before. His face quickly became defiant again though and he didn't bother to struggle.

"You're just lucky it's you," Oscar growled. "If anyone else had said those things to her, I would have…"

"You'd have what?" Emile demanded. "You'd have hit me? Well if it makes you feel better then go ahead!" He jutted his head at him, goading him to throw a punch.

"Boys."

The word came from nowhere. But the tranquil voice that spoke it was unmistakable.

"Boys. Please stop fighting."

The boys turned to her wondrously. Her calm instruction had quenched their anger like cold water on a campfire.

Catherine stood there on the trail behind them. There could only see her by the light of the moon and the stars and yet it was definitely her. Her short dark hair blew about her face in the calm night breeze and, as ever, her rifle was hung over her shoulder. She stood there as still and as solemn as the statues of the Valkrur outside of Castle Randgriz. Suddenly the path had gone silent, as though even the birds and crickets were anticipating her next words with bated breath.

"Emile, you were right," she said. "I'm as pathetic as that horrid Imp was."

"No, Miss O'Hara…" Emile started. She cut off his apology with a raised hand.

"Nonnenkof's painful past drove him to harm those who he believed had wronged him," she continued. "But I'm even worse than he was. For I let my past harm those whom I love most dear in the whole world." She snorted ironically at herself. "Which is rather funny really, considering that the very first time we met I told you that protecting my friends at all costs was the code by which I lived." She gave her head a disgusted shake.

"I'm a weak woman. A hypocrite. And a selfish coward. I don't deserve for anyone to depend on me. But so long as there are people who do, it is my duty to protect them with every fibre of strength in my heart and soul. No matter the fear. No matter the pain."

Her eyes flashed at them, alive with sincerity.

"And of all things, I can't…I _mustn't_ be the one to cause _them_ pain."

She dipped her head and clamped her hand over her mouth, desperately fighting back tears. "How could I ever leave you boys? You were the best pupils I have ever had, so eager to learn and to use that knowledge for righteousness. Teaching you gave me more pleasure that I could have ever thought possible in the middle of a war. You made me the best Catherine O'Hara I had ever been.

"In the end you were more than pupils to me. You were my boys. And I think I could live another life so long as it's with you."

She closed her eyes, hung her head in disgrace. "I've let you down so badly. I've betrayed the trust you had in me. I have no right to ask you to take me back into your lives. But if you do I promise I will be stronger. Because you boys _make_ me strong…" Her voice cracked as the tears finally spilled from her eyes.

"And you boys…you boys," she stuttered. "More than anything, you make me _happy_."

She couldn't go on. On the final word she choked and the tears finally overcame her. They rolled down her cheeks in torrents, glinting in the evening starlight. Then she stumbled and fell to her knees, eyes crinkling up, palms flying to cover her face. Her rifle fell off her shoulder to clatter to the ground by her feet.

"Miss O'Hara…" Oscar breathed in wonder. Throughout her speech the brothers had listened, memorised as her heart had said its piece. They had recognised this woman. That sincere voice. Her strong, yet elegant, poise. Those blue eyes of crystallized compassion. This wasn't the Catherine O'Hara the coward who had fled to the mountains. This was the Catherine O'Hara the soldier. The teacher. Their eternal guardian angel.

The Catherine O'Hara they loved.

The sound of the rifle hitting the dirt broke Oscar out of his stupor. He ran down by her side and caught her in his arms, pulling her close with the strength of a son's love, denied up until now.

"Don't call yourself pathetic Miss O'Hara!" he implored her as she sobbed into his shoulder. "Just don't! You're not weak for caring as much as you do."

Suddenly Emile was there too, having ditched the pack aside to throw his arms around Catherine from behind. "That's right. It's the way you care so much that makes you as special as you are. How could we hate you for that?"

"Yeah," said Oscar. "You're so precious to us and we would never turn you away. We love you Miss O'Hara. You're our family."

She gasped. She was too choked up to reply but just clung to him tighter. Oscar ran a soothing hand down her back, the simple motion letting her know that no words were necessary. Together the two brothers held her tightly, protectively, knowing that from now on she would depend on their strength just as they had always depended on hers. She was more than the Catherine they had come to know now. Somehow, having seen her vulnerabilities, she seemed more human to them. They understood what lay in the depths of her soul – those fragile parts of her that she had always kept hidden inside. Accepting those made their love for her more true than ever.

Catherine continued to cry for a long time afterwards. The brothers held her until her last tear had fallen.

**A/N – Been ages since I've updated…really, really sorry about that. Two and a bit months for an update really isn't on so I apologise, but I hope you enjoyed the chapter. **

**Epilogue up soon! **


	13. Epilogue

_**Some time later…**_

Oscar examined the problem in front of him once again. It was a tricky one and at first glance, looked impossible. At one time he would have given up and turned away from it in disgust. But now he took a breath and reread it, recalling the words of his teacher.

_Be patient with it. Work out the rule you need, then apply it._

The question required him to calculate the area under a curve. Area…that meant he had to…integrate. Yes, that was it. And how was that done? He remembered the example he had seen before. You had to…add one to the power and divide the result by that same number. Then you just had to put the numbers in, right?

That was it! He scrawled out his workings before he could forget them and came up with an answer that he was confident was right. He allowed himself a satisfied smirk before letting his gaze to wander over to his teacher, the very woman who had taught him patience, along with so much else. She was across the room running through the three times table with Sophie, a young girl who had been admitted to Sleepy Lakes with severe burns after her village had been invaded during the war.

"…three times three is nine, four times three is twelve, five times three is…"

He smiled as he watched her. His beloved Miss O'Hara was once again his teacher. Only now instead of marksmanship, she was teaching him maths, language and the history of Gallia. While these more traditional subjects weren't quite as exciting as learning how to nail an enemy from five-hundred yards, they were certainly more useful in a time of peace. Besides, he was ready to learn anything so long as it was Miss O'Hara who was teaching it to him.

Having finally come to the conclusion that twelve times three was thirty-six, Catherine clapped to congratulate little Sophie, then stood to survey the rest of the class. She saw Oscar watching her and came on over.

"Done?" she asked him. "Let's have a look then."

She leaned over his shoulder to peer at his answer. Oscar braced himself as she scrutinised the workings he had written out. To his relief, she nodded and took out her red pen to mark a triumphant red tick on his paper.

"Very good Oscar! You're getting the hang of this," she said brightly. "Now try question four over the page. That one's a bit trickier but you should be able to give it a go."

"Sure thing, Miss O'Hara," he replied, smiling gratefully at her.

She squeezed his shoulder as she rose again. It was only a quick gesture – Catherine didn't like to show favouritism in her class – but it was enough to encourage Oscar and he turned to the next problem with relish.

It had been a couple of months since they had returned to Sleepy Lakes with Catherine. Doctor Milton, the director of the sanatorium, had been dubious about taking her in at first. After all, he was already doing a favour to the brothers by putting them up and feeding them in return for odd jobs. To take on another helper under the same arrangement would have been stretching his generosity too far. However Catherine had been quick to assure him that she was prepared to work part-time in exchange for a bedroll on the floor of the boys' room, which the Doctor had agreed was satisfactory.

That arrangement had lasted barely a week. Within that time Catherine had made herself indispensable.

She worked as hard as anyone at Sleepy Lakes, showing the versatility she had developed as a teaching assistant back at Cliffewick to slot in wherever she was needed. She helped out in the kitchen by preparing meals and washing up afterwards. She assisted with basic medical duties, calling on her military first-aid training to treat wounds. She manned the front desk and implemented a slick new filing system, bringing order to the former chaos of the institution's medical records. And one day, when two of the cleaning crew had failed to show up for work, she spent fourteen hours scrubbing the surfaces of every single ward in the facility to leave them sparkling clean.

But of all the things she did, the most helpful of all were the classes she held for the children in the hospital. It was these that had Doctor Milton thrusting a pay-packet into her hand and begging her to stay.

The initiative had been Catherine's own idea, born in equal parts from sympathy for the sick children at the hospital and her own yearning to be a teacher once again. She had borrowed learning materials from a library the next town (the librarian had told her not to bother returning them – no-one else had wanted the battered old textbooks) and had booked out the hospital's training room for two hours each day to run lessons for the children of Sleepy Lakes.

To the surprise of nearly everyone, these classes had been hugely popular. The children benefited not only from the lessons they learned, but from the familiarity and structure of the classroom environment. It gave their lives purpose, something to do other than stare at the ceiling above their beds for days on end. Not only that but the little victories they won when they got an answer right or earned Miss O'Hara's praise gave them feelings of accomplishment which they had not felt since being admitted to the hospital. For two hours a day, they could pretend they were normal schoolchildren; something which lifted their spirits in a way that modern medicine never could.

With so many pupils of all different ages and abilities, teaching the class was a real challenge. Catherine had to keep several plates spinning at once. One moment she could be running through a differential equation with the brothers, the next she could be teaching Sophie how to spell, scolding Fritz for not trying hard enough at his long division, or telling Tobias the story of Gallia's Industrial Revolution.

Yes it was a challenge. But she was loving every single second of it.

Seeing her in her element, taking so much pleasure from teaching her class, was a joy to behold. Truth be told, Oscar did admit to feeling a little jealous about sharing her with the other children at the sanatorium when at one time she had been their teacher alone. However, Catherine had always been quick to remind them that they were her own special boys, more important to her than anyone else.

"_One day soon I'll become a teaching Meister,"_ she had told them. _"I'll join a proper school and earn a qualified teacher's salary. Then I'll be able to provide you boys with the home you deserve."_

Oscar couldn't wait for that day to come. But until it did, it was enough for him to see her happy, and to have her back in his life.

Just then he heard a cough. He looked up to see Catherine wagging a finger at him. He had been day-dreaming and hadn't yet started the next problem. Smiling guiltily he mouthed an apology to her and returned his focus to his textbook.

All of a sudden the door to the classroom swung open, so forcefully that it hit the wall behind it with a crack that startled everyone. The whole class stared as Emile bounded into the room. He looked ridiculous, clad in his hospital gown with his head mussed up from his pillow, yet he didn't seem to care since his face showed nothing but excitement.

"Miss O'Hara! Bro! It's done!"

Catherine made a disapproving face. "You really should be resting at the moment Emile my dear. Do you want that infection of yours to get any worse?"

"I know, I know," said Emile, waving away her concerns. "But I had to come and get you. It's done! The painting is finished!"

That was big news. Emile had been doing nothing but painting ever since their return from the mountains. Even the chest infection he had picked up recently hadn't slowed him down – he'd simply moved the easel over to his bedside and carried on. Naturally Oscar and Catherine had been forbidden from seeing the final product until it had been completed. Now it seemed that day had finally come.

"Gosh! We'll be right with you Emile." Catherine turned to face the class. "Everyone, I've got to step out for a few minutes. If you finish the questions I've set, take out your reading books until I get back. I won't be long."

"Yes Miss O'Hara," the class chorused.

"Come on Oscar, let's go," she said, ushering him to come. "I think calculus can wait for a little while."

Oscar nodded and rose from his desk, glad to take a break from number-crunching. Together the three of them headed for Emile's room. Emile led the way, but Oscar and Catherine matched his pace. Neither could hide their eagerness to see Emile's finished project.

When they entered his room they saw his easel was turned away from them. "Stay right there," commanded Emile as he scurried to the side of it, ready to present it to them. "Okay, ready to see it?"

"Come on Emile dear. Don't keep us in suspense!" Catherine implored him.

"Okay, here we go!" he said excitedly. "Three…two…one…here it is!" He swung the easel around to face them.

Oscar and Catherine both gasped as one. Here was the picture which Emile had first started working on whilst sitting outside Miss O'Hara's cabin; the one whose creation had been rudely interrupted when a former Imp captain had slugged him around the head with a shotgun. It was a coloured rendering of the photo taken on the training-field during the war, with Catherine's arms resting on the shoulders of her two devoted protégés.

It was good, even by Emile's standards. Every minute detail – from Catherine's thin elegant fingers to Oscar's characteristic quiff to Emile's smattering of freckles – had been lovingly rendered on the canvas, painstaking care in every brushstroke. But more than that he had managed to capture the affection in the moment. You couldn't tell how he had done it, but in some intangible way you could sense how deeply the three characters in the painting adored each other.

_Emile was right. We do look like a family. _It was almost as though the photo had been a premonition. A glimpse into the family they there were to become.

Oscar couldn't help smiling. The painting filled him with warmth just looking at it. There was no doubt that it was Emile's best work to date. He gave his brother a congratulatory slap on the back.

"Well done bro!" he said. "It's good."

"Good?" Emile spluttered. "It's better than good! It's a masterpiece! Tell him Miss O'Hara!"

Catherine didn't reply at first. She seemed to be immersed in the picture, fondly recalling the day when they had posed this way for the photo.

"Oh Emile my darling," she breathed. "It's wonderful. Just wonderful. You have such a precious talent." She then tilted her head, pursing her lips as she considered it again. "But I do have to ask. Am I really _that_ pale?"

"It's your painting Miss O'Hara," said Emile, reaching for his paint-brush. "I can make your skin whatever shade you want it to be."

"No, no, don't touch it!" Catherine cried, grabbing him by the wrist as though he was a toddler about to touch a hot stove. "It's your painting, not mine. This painting shows your impressions at this point in time and that why it belongs to you and no-one else. If you alter it, even a little, it will no longer be the picture you saw in your head and will be diminished as a result. Don't change a thing, not for me or anyone else!"

The two brothers exchanged knowing grins. No matter what, Catherine just couldn't help sharing her wisdom.

"All the same," she added. "If I really do look that pasty, perhaps I should spend some more time out in the sun!"

They all laughed together at that. As their chuckles subsided, Catherine draped an arm over each boy's shoulder and pulled them close to her side, so that they were almost a reflection of the characters in the painting.

"My little artist and my little doctor," she said happily. "You boys can't even imagine how proud I am of you."

Emile beamed up at her. "We love you Miss O'Hara."

She smiled and leaned down to bring her mouth level with their ears, as though about to tell them a secret. The two boys drew closer, holding their breath as they listened.

"Thank you boys," she whispered. "Thank you for finding me. Thank you for bringing me back. And most of all, thank you for giving me this wonderful new life."

While they were still in close, she planted a kiss on each boy's cheek. The gesture surprised them and yet it seemed totally natural for her to have done it. They smiled and placed their arms around her, Oscar's around her neck, Emile's around her waist.

_She's with us at last. And now that we're all together, we have nothing left to fear. For today we're happy, and no matter what tomorrow brings, we'll face it together as a family. Isn't that right, Miss O'Hara?_

He didn't say a word, yet when she tenderly returned his gaze he knew she could read his thoughts and felt exactly the same way.

They stayed in their cosy family hug for a good long while, enjoying the closeness of each other as they continued to admire the painting. It was Catherine who eventually broke the silence.

"Boys, could I ask a favour?"

"Sure," said Oscar. "Anything, Miss O'Hara."

She chewed on her lip, seeming anxious all of a sudden. "It's about that. Please don't call me Miss O'Hara anymore."

"Huh? Why not?" demanded Emile. "You've always been Miss O'Hara!"

"I know, but it sounds so formal," she retorted with a cringe. "It's a name that a pupil calls their teacher. But like I told you that night in the mountains, you're far more to me than just pupils now."

"So what_ should _we call you then?" Oscar asked. He knew he would never be comfortable just calling her by her first name. 'Catherine' would feel so unnatural coming off his tongue.

She pondered this for a moment. "I don't know," she admitted eventually. "What do you boys think?"

Emile scratched his head, trying to think of ideas. "Something like 'Auntie Catherine?'" he suggested.

"Maybe," said Catherine dubiously. "But it's a bit of a mouthful isn't it? Couldn't we shorten it to 'Aunt Cathy?"

"I don't think that works," said Oscar. He struggled to think of an alternative. Then he realised that there was only one thing he wanted to call her. What he had thought of her as for so long now.

"I just want to call you Mother." He blurted it out before his courage could fail him.

Catherine smiled and kissed him on his scar. "You have no idea how happy that would make me, Oscar my dear."

*** * * END * * ***

**A/N – …and it's done! In the words of Claudia…'All RIGHT!'**

**Took a lot longer than I thought to finish this but I'm happy with the end result. Thanks so much for reading the whole thing, and special thanks to those who reviewed along the way – thanks guys, I really do appreciate your comments. I hope you enjoyed reading it since I really had fun writing it (strangely I enjoyed writing this more than I did actually playing the game itself). **

**This fic was mainly inspired by two things. Firstly Catherine's Camaraderie potential made me think of the bonds she would have with other snipers, which gave me the idea of making her Oscar & Emile's mentor. More important though was Catherine's ending notes in the game – I wondered why someone who 'holds the bond of friendship above all else' would ever chose to live the life of a hermit. I figured the only possible reason she would do such a thing would be to protect herself from the pain of watching those she loved suffer, and that was the idea that started this fic. **

**Catherine is my favourite character in the game, for many reasons including her interesting back-story and her fantastic calm half-English/half-Irish voice. Also I like the way that she seems to be a strong, motherly figure at first (as seen by her cheery nature and Camaraderie potential) but deep down is pessimistic and insecure (evidenced by her Pessimist potential and the fact she panics without a weapon or ammo). Makes her seem a little more multi-dimensional that many of the other characters in the game. It's a shame that, thanks to that **_**other**_** female sniper, she gets no extra appearances in the DLC, anime or manga (well okay, one appearance so far in that last one) but hey at least she has her own fanfic now. :-)**

**Naturally I also have a soft spot for the Bielert brothers. I like the way that they are both contradictions – Oscar is fit and healthy, but lacks courage and confidence while Emile is sickly, but is confident and sociable. I think they complement Catherine quite well, in that she's a motherly character and they seem to be kids who need mothering. I was so glad that they were given a decent role in the anime – was in hysterics in episode 6 when they started the fight :-) **

**Believe it or not Helmut Nonnenkof makes no fewer than three appearances in the game. His most significant appearance as far as this fic goes is in the Marberry mission (as detailed in chapter three) – in the enemy's base camp at the end of the level there's a 'Cpt Nonnenkof'. He also appears in the Kloden Wildwood mission as 'Lt Nonnenkof' (he runs out of the base like a lamb to the slaughter) and is also as a squad-member in the Selvaria DLC, as Luther Nonnenkof. Of course I didn't realise he was in the last one until I'd named him in the fic, otherwise he would have been Luther all along. Never mind…maybe that can be his brother or something :-)**

**Time for me to sign this fic off…any further comments, criticism, questions etc. then please get in touch via PM or a review. Thanks for reading! **


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